Driven To Desolation
by DirtyPopsicles
Summary: Patrick Jane saved Teresa Lisbon from the brink of death. He never suspected that doing so would lead him on the path of his past, and onto the road full of redemption and understanding. But what is Teresa Lisbon hiding? Could she know more about his past? And can she trust him enough to let him get close to her? To reveal her own haunting past? AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Where to begin? This story is familiar to some of you. I wrote it a while ago, and it is complete, but has a slight title change from _Desolation_ to _Driven To Desolation_. However, it remains my favorite story I have ever written (though **_**Wide Awake**_ **is creeping up). I was reading it again today, and I realized that I can't let it sit in my folder to die. I love it too much for that. It was actually cathartic to write, anyways. I have gone over this story with a fine-toothed comb when it comes to grammar and changing and reworking scenes, which I think will make it for a better read. Obviously, this is AU, and roles are switched between characters, however, they are pretty much still in character, and you don't really notice it unless stated. It may not be your proverbial cup of tea, but I urge you to give it a go. Because it is pre-written and completely typed, there will be no delays in uploads, and this will be uploaded every few days/to a week. Thanks for giving it a go, and I hope you enjoy this re-hashing of an old tale, and if you enjoyed, please let me know. Thanks!**

* * *

 **Chapter 1 – Lost and Found**

* * *

He looked round the building, his eyes glancing over the dim landscape. He lay his hand on his holstered weapon and blew out a long, drawn out sigh. He bent to his partner and winked, a grin working at the recess of his mouth. He watched the other man's face upturn just slightly, shaking his dark-haired head and nodding toward the front door. He mimicked a stance of an old western outlaw, hunching down and moving his hips as if waiting for the shoe to drop and his hand to be quick to the draw.

"Stop being a showoff," the agent told him teasingly. "You know that makes me look bad."

"Oh," he told his partner, throwing up a hand and shrugging. "Since when have I ever made you look bad?"

"Wearing the waistcoat. Posh, but makes me look dumb in comparison. My Korean seamstress of a mother would be proud of you."

His partner laughed as they hit the sides of the doorway. He knocked on the glass and made a face at his partner as he waited for the occupant to answer. After several minutes of standing there with no answer turned to his partner and nodded his head toward the back of the building, which was dark; there were no working lights back there.

"I'll go to the back and see if I can't get an answer," he told him. "We sure this is the correct address?"

"Yeah," his partner acknowledged. "This is it. The last house on the list, my friend."

"Hmm," he plainly responded, stepping off the porch and working his way around to the rear.

He took his flashlight from his belt and turned it on, shining it around the backyard as he made his way to the back door. Rapping loudly on the glass with his flashlight, he waited. It was eerily silent. Leaning forward, he flashed the light into the glass to look around the room on the other side. The walls were cluttered with news clippings and magazine covers, and he discovered the doorway heading out of that way was open. It was when he shined the light down onto the floor that he noticed the drops of crimson on the white tile, leading away from the door he was standing at.

He got on his radio right away. "We might have a situation, here. I can see blood on the floor, and it's leading inside the house. I'm going to make entry. I need you to call for backup, let them know we are here and then I want you to go in from the front."

His partner confirmed that, and he hoisted his weapon from its holster. He tested the knob first, but he already knew that the doorway was probably locked. He was going to break the glass with the butt of his flashlight, but a loud, piercing scream changed that tactic into kicking the door in with his foot to make entry.

"Ma'am?" he cried out. "My name is CBI Agent Patrick Jane. If you can hear me, scream again so I can find you," he called out, trying to make his way through the house. The lady shouted out once more, leading the detective upstairs. "Cho, there is a lady screaming up here. The second floor," he called down as he heard the agent make entry below.

Progressing slowly, Jane opened the doors, one-by-one. The place was large, and there was nothing much in them. In one of the bedrooms, there stood a lone white mattress. In the others, just empty rooms. Finally, at the end of the hall, Jane tried the door to the last room, but it was locked from the inside.

"Ma'am, could you-" he started to say before he heard a loud thump and a blood-curdling scream echoing through the entire house. "Screw it!" he said, using his foot to kick in the door and make his way into the dark bedroom.

His eyes skimmed the room quickly and establish a distressing scene. The window on the far side of the room was wide open as if someone had opened it to escape; the blinds and curtains were broken and torn, and the California heat was waffling inside. He noticed there was a mattress on the floor that was overturned. Jane went over to it and lifted it upward. Underneath, there was a small, brunette woman, curled up with her hands around her throat. It took him only an instant to realize her throat had been slashed and she was bleeding profusely.

"Cho!" he called back, hearing his partner come behind them. "Call 911. Tell them we have a woman down and bleeding from a neck wound!"

"Okay, Jane. Backup is also on their way as is the boss," he told him, getting on the radio and calling it in. "She's in bad shape, Patrick," he added. "Where the hell did the suspect go?"

He pointed to the window as he knelt next to the bleeding woman. "Out the window."

"What happened to her? You think home invasion?" Cho asked.

They could hear the sirens in the distance heading for them. Jane didn't answer Cho. Instead, he was looking up at the wall in front of them as he held the bleeding woman's hands against her throat.

"Not a home intrusion," he stated, nodding toward the wall. "She's another Red John victim. We must have disturbed him in the middle of his work."

Cho turned to see where Jane was nodding. On the wall, in the brunette's own blood, was a large, round smiley face.

"Stay with me, sweetheart. What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"

"Teresa," she gurgled after a struggle to breathe.

"Teresa..." he reiterated. "That's a nice name. Help is on the way, Teresa."

* * *

Minelli stared at Jane hard as he entered his office several hours later, taking his time before sitting down and pressing his fingers to his temple. He sighed and leaned forward, taking in that Jane still had the woman's blood on his hands, suit jacket and vest.

"You need to clean yourself up, Jane," he told his Agent. "You can't walk around here all bloodied up. It looks bad."

"How is the woman? Teresa? How is she?" he asked, not bothering with an answer about the blood. "Is she going to be okay?"

Minelli rolled his eyes at Jane and sighed at his lack of listening about his hands and clothes. "If you consider fifty stitches to close up her throat, then yeah. Just peachy," he replied, rubbing his head now as if he had a headache.

"But she'll be fine?" Jane asked, sitting back in the chair, relaxing for the first time in a while.

"The last report I got from the hospital says she will be fine, but in there for a couple of days and she'll have a deep scar across her throat," he told his Agent. "You go there to ask about a murder down the road, and you stumble across Red John nearly killing this woman. You can't make this shit up!" Minelli sighed.

Jane couldn't disagree with his boss. They had gone to the woman named Teresa's house in hopes to find some information about a murder just up the street, and he ends up disturbing Red John, the notorious killer in the middle of his act. He shivered unconsciously at that, remembering how he had bent down to see the woman's throat open and bleeding and then finding the smiley face.

Clearly, Red John had gotten a little cockier as he went on because he had abandoned his MO of waiting until the victim was dead to draw the face. Unless this woman played dead?

"Yeah, well, be thankful we were there, Virgil. You know how I feel about this..." Jane trailed off.

"Yes, I do. Which is why I hate what happened tonight. Not only is this a perpetual media crap storm," Minelli ranted, "but now I have to worry about how you'll behave with all this. You are on a very thin line, Jane. Very thin!"

"But he made a mistake, Virgil!" Jane smiled, sitting on the edge of his seat. "He didn't kill her. She can be of some help."

"We are not discussing this, Jane. The woman has been through enough. Let her get better, for Christ's sake."

"She could be the answer to getting this animal off the streets, Virgil," he shot back.

"Look, it's out of my hands. Sac PD has her now," his boss told him. "We're done with it."

"What if he comes back? What if he tries to finish her off?" Jane asked, concern lacing his words. "She's a sitting duck with those clowns. They don't care about her!"

"That will be the Sac unit's problem, Jane!" Minelli told him. "They told me they'll have someone watch over her twenty-four-seven. She'll be fine."

"And you believe that?" Jane scoffed, sitting back in the chair. "They'll send a patrol around once every three hours. You know that."

"And what would you have me do, Jane?"

Jane thought for a moment. "Let me do it. Let me keep an eye on her."

Minelli laughed. "No. No way, Jane. You are a homicide detective. Not a babysitter," he said.

"Come on, Virgil. It would be cheaper for the Sac PD, and plus you know I am a better cop than half those idiots over there. Let me watch over her."

"We're talking months of valuable time and resources, Patrick. I am up to my eyeballs in budget reports already. Besides, how are you going to watch this woman when you have to report your ass to me every day? Huh?" He shook his head. "I just don't think it's going to work out, Patrick. I'm sorry."

"She can come along," Jane suggested. "You know? Tag with me and Cho."

"You done lost your goddamn mind, Jane! She's a civilian. You have big, shiny guns that you pretend to be an outlaw with. This is not a good set-up, and it is a code of conduct breach. We protect people, not push them in harms way," Minelli countered, sitting back in his chair and sighing.

"I see Cho has been telling you stories again," Jane said quietly. "Look, Virgil. At least consider it?" Jane pleaded.

Minelli closed his eyes and pursed his lips. Jane could see his boss was getting tired of this conversation already. Finally, Minelli opened his eyes and put a finger to his chin.

"Fine. I will consider your request. It will be denied on grounds it is bat-shit insane but okay. You win," he said. "Now I need you to go home, get some sleep, clean yourself up and please brush that goddamn hair of yours so it doesn't look like a lion's mane?"

"Is that her file?" Jane asked, nodding toward a blue folder sitting on Minelli's desk. "Is that from Sac?"

Minelli reached over and held up the folder. "It is. I am guessing you want to read it? Take it home with you. Bring it back here tomorrow morning. You understand me?"

Jane rose from his seat and nodded with a smile. "Yeah, yeah. Tomorrow. I got you." He took the folder and walked to the office door.

"Don't get blood on it!" Minelli warned him. "And be prepared. It's a heavy read."

Jane held up the folder as he left his office. He would wait to read it until he got home, but he flipped open the folder to the first page and saw the brunette woman staring up at him, her green eyes haunted and hollow. He saw that her full name was Teresa Jessica Lisbon, she was 5'4, green eyes, freckle-faced, and she obviously had a long history. When he looked further at the writing on the page, he realized that these were not her rap sheet of prior prison offenses and crimes, but a full novel on her psychiatric records.

Seems Teresa Lisbon had a long, sordid tale to tell.

* * *

She woke up and immediately detected the malodorous scent of antiseptic and the second thing she detected was her throat on fire. She put a hand to her throat and felt fresh gauze covering the wound. She had slipped into unconsciousness halfway to the hospital, and only just awoke. She hated doctors and hospitals. She hated the smells, the frauds in white coats and the air of superiority of everyone in white or blue scrubs. She needed to get the hell out of here.

She sat up, dizziness hitting her. She put a hand to her head and saw the IV sticking from her hand from the corner of her eye. She frowned, pulled her hand back down, and pulled the IV from her hand, wincing in pain as it caught. Tossing it aside, she pulled back the white blanket and turned her legs to land over the bed's edge. She stood, holding onto the rail of the bed for support as her head swam.

Looking around, she saw a pair of blue scrubs on a cart just outside her room in the hallway and her shoes at the end of her bed. She walked over slowly to the bed, grabbing her shoes before heading over to the cart and reached down, grabbing the scrubs. Making sure nobody saw her, she turned and walked into the bathroom of her room, closing the door and locking it. She turned on the light and got a good look at herself for the first time.

The gauze wrapped around her neck stuck to her wound and pulled when she moved her head. Her eye was black and blue, and there were cuts on her face, including one on her upper lip. She looked like she felt. She shook her head and turned from the mirror, removing her gown and throwing it on the floor. She put on the scrubs, watching out for her throat. They were a size too large, but they'd suffice. She sat down on the toilet lid and put her shoes on. She pushed her chestnut curls around her throat to hide the gauze. Eventually, she unlocked and opened the bathroom, stepping out into her room and passing through to the hall.

"Excuse me," a voice called from behind her. "What are you doing?"

Slowly, she turned around and smiled at the redheaded lady watching her with interest. The woman had a shiny badge firmly affixed to her hip, and the gun at her other hip told her she was police. Most likely like the man who had saved her life.

"I'm new here," she lied smoothly, her voice straining to contain the tremor in it. It wasn't her first rodeo with that. "I just was checking on the patient."

"I didn't see you go in," she replied suspiciously. "But then again, I just got here for shift change. I'm the rookie and well..." she trailed off. "I'm Grace Van Pelt," she presented herself. "I'm watching over the woman in there."

"Oh, she's all right. A little woozy, but fine," she told the cop. "She'll be all right." She was still under the effects of the medication and couldn't formulate a better lie or plan.

"Well, that is good, then," Van Pelt said. "Jane has been asking about her."

"Jane?" she inquired. She knew she should get the hell out of there while she could, but her curiosity was peaked. "The man who saved me... uh, her?"

"Yeah," Grace smiled. "Patrick Jane."

"Oh."

"Well, I better go check on her," Grace said, nodding toward the room she had just exited out of. "My turn."

She just smiled at the redhead as she turned to check on a room she knew would be empty. As she headed toward the elevators, she could hear shouting behind her and the redhead running toward her.

"Come on! Come on!" she said, jumping into the open lift and jamming all the buttons with her fists. "Go!"

With a groan, the doors closed just as the redheaded cop got to them, leaving the floor behind. She leaned against the cool wall of the elevator and sighed. When the doors opened in the lobby of the hospital a few moments later, Teresa Lisbon slipped out of the doors and into the darkness, woozy and disoriented.

* * *

Jane showered, grabbed a container of takeout from the fridge and popped it in the microwave as he grabbed Teresa Lisbon's file from the kitchen counter. Grabbing his hot food container, he walked into his bedroom, placing the food and file on his nightstand. He pulled back his sheets and slipped between them, reaching over for his pillow and placing it in his lap to set the file on.

Minelli certainly was not kidding when he said it was a heavy read. There was at least a two-hundred-page doctrine of her sessions with a Dr. Sophie Miller. Jane read about her early life. Her father was a drunken con man, and her mother split when Teresa was only five. Growing up, Teresa was forced to perform with her father, stealing wallets, cash, anything by distracting them away.

As she grew up, she decided to branch out on her own, going town to town running her scams, selling people hope in buckets. Finally, he was getting into her recent life. He flipped to the next page and read on, forgetting about his food on the nightstand next to him.

The psychologist, Dr. Miller, had written several short paragraphs about a stint in the psychological ward of the local hospital. What caught Jane's eye was the fact that she mentioned that Teresa had been admitted there for "mental limitations on grief and bereavement". As he read on, he learned that her son and husband were victims of a violent crime. It did not disclose how they died, though. They said it was an ongoing investigative case.

The poor woman seemed to be going through hell. Losing her family to an act of violence, and now almost murdered by Red John. He knew the feeling all too well. Very, very well. He closed her file and sighed. He didn't know why he felt a connection to his lady, but he couldn't escape from it. She had something he wanted. She had information on Red John. He could get that son of a bitch for good if he could get her to open up. He could settle his score.

He was about to eat his food when his phone rang. He reached over and picked it up, bringing the food to his mouth as he spoke.

"Jane," he stated. As he listened, he spat his food back into the container and set it back down. "You _lost_ her? Are you freaking kidding me with this? You let the _rookie_ watch her?"

He got up out of the bed, searching for his pants. "She couldn't have gone far."

As he was searching for his pants in the bathroom off the bedroom, he heard his doorbell ring. He listened to Cho tell him they have a patrol out looking for her as he walked to the door and pulled it open, expecting a patrolman to be standing there giving him instructions. Instead, standing at his door at eleven at night, in too big scrubs, was Teresa Lisbon.

"Never mind," he told Cho, hanging up the phone. "I found her."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2- Sing Like A Bird**

* * *

She watched him slide the warm cup of coffee across the counter. He watched her with mild interest as she picked up the cup and took a small sip, letting the liquid coat her mouth before she swallowed. She hissed a little as the cup made contact with her cut and swollen lip. She sat the cup back down on the saucer and frowned at him.

"Sorry. I only drink tea, actually. The coffee is crappy and the cup is a teacup, but it is warm and better than nothing," he told her, shrugging.

"Do you have to call them?" she asked, fiddling with the teacup as she spoke. "I don't want to go back there."

He gazed at her unerringly, now. He took in her bruised eye, the various scratches and cuts on her skin and finally the gauze sticking to the wound on her neck. He sighed and leaned across the counter, his eyes finding hers and searching for anything that would tell him why she had spontaneously shown up on his doorstep in stolen, over-sized scrubs when she was supposed to be sound asleep in a hospital bed twelve blocks from here.

"Why did you escape?" he countered with a query of his own. "They're only there to aid you. Though I don't like hospitals, myself."

"I've had my fair share of hospital stays," she told him quietly, casting her eyes down from his. "Nothing good ever came of them."

Almost automatically, Jane's mind fell back to her file and the writing that Dr. Miller had placed in it. Clearly, Teresa was speaking about the stints in the psych ward. He certainly couldn't blame her. He was attempting to apply his sharp senses to make a take on this woman.

For starters, she didn't seem the least bit startled about what had happened to her just a few hours ago. He knew from experience, however, that once the medication they gave her wore off and she came back into herself, that would change. The second thing he was trying to figure out was why she had come to his doorstep. How did she know where he lived? Why the hell had she come here?

"I can try to persuade my boss to release you in our care," he offered her. "That's probably the best I can do."

She half shrugged and drew in the cup of tea closer to her. She looked up at him and offered him a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Better than nothing," she said. "Thank you, Patrick."

He shrugged and returned her smile. "Jane, please. Just call me Jane. Agent Jane if you want to be formal."

"Jane," she repeated softly, letting the name tumble off her tongue. "Like the girl?"

"Just like," he confirmed. "So, do you want to tell me about what happened tonight and why you are sitting here?"

She pushed the teacup away and straightened herself on the stool she was sitting on. He felt her gaze on his face, tracing the lines and the wrinkles at his eyes before they glanced down at his lips and made their way up the slant of his nose to his eyes again. She licked her lip and hissed again in pain as her tongue moistened the cut.

"I didn't want to go back there," she finally said, "I didn't have anywhere else to go."

He knew she meant she couldn't go back to the home in which she nearly died. He didn't know how she even got here in the condition she was in. She had to be in pain now that the medication was probably wearing off, and walking along the streets to get here couldn't have helped her any. He sighed and came around the counter, pulling out the stool next to her and clearing this throat.

"How did you know where I lived?" he asked, not unkindly. He was going to take an almost childlike stance with her. He could sense the psychological toll the events of both her past and tonight had taken on her. He had seen this before with victims of violent crimes. He, himself, had been a victim of this. She was like a butterfly in a cocoon with no way out, for the moment.

"Phone book," she replied simply. "Only Patrick Jane in there. I went with it and hit paydirt."

"And how did you get past Van Pelt?" he inquired, lifting an eyebrow. "No offense, but these scrubs," he reached down and pulled on the material at her hips, causing her to flinch back from him, "are falling off of you. You have a homeless vibe about you."

He extracted his hand from her scrubs and put it up in defense. He watched her body relax and swing back straight, her eyes avoiding his as she suddenly found an interesting pattern in the marble tabletop.

"I'm really proficient at reading people," she told him softly. "I wasn't at my best with the dizziness, but enough to manipulate her pretty good."

"You still use your con skills, huh?" asked Jane, gathering a sharp look from Teresa. "Yes, I've read up on you. It's part of my job."

"Nice to know my life is an open file, apparently," she breathed. "I can't seem to turn them off. Anyway, it's like a defense mechanism. I can read people and figure them out. The redhead? Uppity and new. An easy mark. Didn't have to be skilled to see it, though."

He quickly nodded his head. "Since I just made you pretty uncomfortable, how about you even the score. You can read people, right?" he read off her questioning expression. "Read me. Go right on ahead. Nothing is too far in my closet, Teresa."

It was a filthy lie and he knew it. But he didn't think she had the skills she said she did to drag it out. Instead, she was just projecting herself to be adept. He leaned an elbow onto the counter and put his head in his hand. He looked on as she slowly looked at him and pitched her head as if considering. She turned to him, obviously intrigued by his request.

"I don't think I should," she told him. "You might not like what I say."

"You're that good?" he taunted, smiling cockily at her. "Show me."

Jane didn't believe too much in this kind of thing. He believed in facts and evidence. But he could tell Teresa didn't quite trust him. Maybe it would help her. He thought he'd try, at least. Give her a distraction from everything that was going on.

"You love your line of work, but you goof off as you do it," she started away, narrowing her eyes at him. "You joined the police force because a parent or sibling made you want to make a difference; change people's life. You obviously didn't have a great childhood, and there is something behind those gorgeous blueish eyes. Pain. A tragedy. Not recent," she read. "Maybe a sister or wife? Mother?"

The cocky smile slid off his face and was superseded by a stony expression. He said nothing to her as he slid off his stool and walked back around the counter. He could sense her watching him as he picked up the telephone from its cradle and dialed. He looked at her and saw the intense interest in her eyes. She recognized she had run into something he didn't like.

"Minelli?" Jane asked into the phone. "I need you to come over right away. Now," he emphasized. "Only you, and don't tell anyone you are coming here."

Teresa looked at him and swallowed softly. She had exceeded some kind of invisible boundary, no question. Pissed him off by prying and telling truths nobody else probably knew. Even though he had asked her to, she sensed he was testing her. She recognized that even before she told him anything. Still, she never backed down from the chance to read people. It was by far her favorite thing to do besides maybe getting herself out of situations by manipulation, which was her other specialty.

"Minelli, you seriously need to get here," he said again. "Alone."

"You don't follow rules, either," she blurted out aloud, causing Jane to mutter into the telephone. "He thinks you're joking."

Minelli heard her in the background and sighed heavily. He told the blond-haired cop that he'd be over, and also told him that he better had not had anything to do with her workout at the hospital. Jane hung up the phone and put it on its cradle, taking caution to use up as much time as he could.

"His rules are too strict for my taste," he finally said. "I prefer to loosely follow his rules and supplement them with my own personal flare."

"Meaning you do whatever the hell you want and he backs you up because you are good at what you do?" she snapped, a little miffed that he sold her out so soon to his boss. "They're going to take me away and do some kind of witness protection crap?"

Jane hadn't really thought about it until now. He was a little upset that she picked up on things he rather remain buried. He didn't yet know if Minelli had gotten to talk with Sac PD about his request. It was up to Sac PD if they would allow him to watch over her or not, as the Director wouldn't care either way, so long as she was protected by someone. Especially being the only living victim of Red John.

"I don't know," he told her truthfully, licking his lips. "That's the plan, but it doesn't always work out the way it's supposed to. It'll most likely be a twenty-four-seven patrol. Possibly even have an Agent live with you for a while."

"I don't need anyone. I'm better off alone," she told him, curling her hands together.

"Nobody is better off alone, Teresa," he told her almost soundlessly. "And it really isn't your choice to make."

"I trust nobody," said Lisbon. "It's better that way."

"You don't have to trust them," he replied. "They have to trust in themselves to keep you safe. This guy is a serial killer, Teresa," he warned her. "You're his mistake. Think about it."

She opened her mouth to reply, but his doorbell rang, scaring her. She jumped, and he leaned across the counter to steady her and keep her from falling off the stool. She shrank back away from him once again, standing and moving away from his touch. He put up both hands in defense and softened his expression. The poor woman was flighty. Rightfully so.

He left her there as he answered the door. It was who he expected it to be: Minelli. He let his boss inside and smiled at his abrupt halt, looking at the woman who had escaped past one of his Agents. Minelli took her in and shook his head, turning back to Jane.

"This wasn't you?" he demanded, pointing to Lisbon. "Was it?"

"I came here of my own accord," Lisbon told him, garnering a look from both men. "I had nowhere else to go."

"You could have stayed at the hospital," Minelli told her. "You almost died tonight, Ms. Lisbon."

"Virgil, ease off," Jane stated. "She's not a suspect in one of our murder cases."

"No, but she's a victim in which the assailant sliced and diced over twenty people, Jane!" he countered. "If you are asking me to hide her for you, sorry. No can do."

"Sac said no?" Jane said, outraged. "Virgil, you know you can't let those idiots watch over her!"

"Not your problem!" he told him. "She's coming back to the CBI so we can ask her what happened tonight and then she's going with them," he said. "Sac is heading there now. Let's go." Minelli gazed down at Jane's legs. "And for God's sake, put some pants on first."

* * *

Sitting in the interrogation room forty-five minutes later, Lisbon waited quietly for someone to come in and talk to her. Someone with a notepad and pen was going to come in here and ask her stuff she didn't want to relive. It was a sad cycle that seemed to haunt her for a long time. It wasn't like her to be this out-of-touch, but almost dying paralyzed her; made her collapse inside herself and put up a wall.

She was strangely drawn to Patrick Jane. When he was holding her hands against her own throat to stop the bleeding, she had instantly felt something. That sounded ridiculous to her, but it is the only way to explain why she had decided to leave that prison of a hospital and seek him out. There was a damaged intensity in him. It spun her for a loop. Usually, she could read people very well. Patrick Jane, while his facial expression and eyes gave forth some of his basic qualities and tragedies, left her with more doubts than solutions.

A connection? How? More importantly, what?

Her thoughts were thrown from her mind as she watched the Agent that was with Jane when they found her came into the room. He was carrying the notepad and pen, she noted with a smirk. He sat down across from her and flipped it open, no trace of a smile on his face.

"Ms. Lisbon," he greeted her. "I'm Agent Cho. Can you take me back to earlier tonight? What happened?"

She looked at Cho and tilted her head. Studying the stoic face of Agent Cho, she was struck by just how lonely he seemed to be. She scanned him quickly and noted several things to back up her theory: no wedding band, sad eyes, overly cologned, and lack of smile.

"If you smiled more, you wouldn't feel so lonely," she stated. "A little-recognized fact is smiles are the first thing a female notices about a male she's interested in."

"Pardon me?" he answered, clearly taken aback.

"The reason you are lonely is because you lack the one physical trait women see in a man."

"I'm not in here asking for dating advice," he told her. She'd struck a nerve. "We need your cooperation, Ms. Lisbon."

We need your cooperation, Ms. Lisbon. That statement flashed an idea into her mind. Why she was even thinking about it was anyone's guess, but it felt strangely right. She looked at Agent Cho across the table and smiled a sweet smile, and leaned back in her chair, relaxing for the first time since Red John had nearly killed her.

"I'd like to speak with the person in charge, please," she said. "Uh, the guy who was with us when I came in."

He groaned, shut his notepad and stood. "I'll go get him. Stay here."

She watched him exit, a self-satisfied smile playing on her lips. She just couldn't help it. She hadn't used her skills in quite some time. Not after her son and husband were... She shook her head and sighed. She turned her head to the door just as Minelli and Jane came walking in. Her eyes flickered from Minelli to Jane, who was staring at her, wondering what she wanted.

"Ms. Lisbon?" Minelli inquired. "Cho said you wanted to see me?"

"Yes," she affirmed. "He's not really good with facial expressions," she remarked. This elicited a grin from Jane.

"I've been saying that for years," Jane replied.

"Shut up!" Minelli told him. "What is it, Ms. Lisbon?"

"I won't tell you a damn thing unless you let Agent Jane watch over me," she said, getting straight to the point. "I don't trust anyone else to do it."

"That is not your say! If I wanted, I could have you put in one of our lovely detention units," Minelli told her. "The metal toilet and sink combo is very nice, I hear. I don't have a choice, you see. Sac PD has it."

"You are very good at talking. You have callused hands. A sign you shake a lot of hands. You are respected and well liked person. You could manage it if you wanted," she ordered him. You simply wish to spite Agent Jane because he pisses you off. But, sir, this is my offer."

Minelli looked at her and grumbled. He turned to Jane and shook his head at him. "Was this you?"

"I was with you!" Jane told him. "I had nothing to do with this."

"Yeah, but you're sure not protesting, are you?"

"Hell no," he said. "This woman needs protecting, not monitored between donut runs!"

Minelli looked from Jane to Lisbon and groveled. "Fine! I will contact the Director and try to work it out," he told them both. "You better tell us everything after this!"

"I'll sing like a bird," she promised.

He left without saying another word. Jane stayed behind and came to sit in the seat opposite her where Cho had sat. He rolled his eyes at her and smiled. She stared at him for a minute and then leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table.

"You don't trust me," she told him matter-of-factually. "I can see it."

"No, I don't," he concurred. "And you don't trust me, either."

She nodded her chestnut curls at him. "Nothing personal. Everyone is a con man if you give them the right time and material," she explained.

"And you've been through a lot," he added, hinting at the file he read on her. "That makes a person lack trust and accountability wouldn't you say?"

She dismissed that. "You've been through some things, too," she replied. "When I read you at your place. It hit a cord with you. I don't expect you'd ever talk about it, but this is why your trust and accountability is pretty low, too."

He nodded at that. "Trust is earned. Thus far, nobody has," he alleged. "Even Minelli."

"Wise."

"So... when you told Virgil you don't trust anyone else..."

"I don't trust you as a person," she said. "I trust you to do your job. You are good at it, judging by the well-practiced hands you had on my throat so I wouldn't bleed to death, and also the fact Minelli puts up with your shit," she added.

"Stop reading me," he told her softly. "If you are going to be in my care, I don't want you inside my head." He was serious, she saw.

She looked a little hurt at his inflection, but nodded. "Sorry. Habitual."

They were quiet for a long time. Each staring at the other but remaining silent with their own thoughts. Finally, Minelli popped back in and pointed to Lisbon.

"Sing like a bird, sister," he said. "But there are things to discuss." He turned to Jane. "She's in your care. Whatever happens to her from now on is your responsibility, Jane. As of now, she is down as a CI. That means she works for us. If we find another title suitable for you," he said, turning back to Lisbon, "we will change it."

"Is there more?" Jane asked.

Minelli put his fingers to his head and rubbed it. "Sac PD already has a place set up. It was seized in a drug ring. It's a cabin up in the hills. It's got a gate and is miles from here, thank God!" he exclaimed. "It's a pretty big place, so if he gets to be a pain in the ass like he is for me, you can go to the other side of the place. Not too far, because of the whole Red John thing..." he trailed off, wondering if this was bad advice. "You should be safe there. It's just until we catch this guy."

"Do you think he'll try to come after her again?" Jane asked. "Finish the job?"

"Yes," Lisbon spoke up. "I know he will."

"Do you, now?" Minelli asked. "How?"

"If Red John wants to find you, he will," she said simply, leaving it alone.

"She's right, Virgil," Jane said. "You know this better than anyone. It's been our case for a long time."

He turned to Lisbon. "You leave tomorrow morning, Ms. Lisbon. Jane will drive you up. Now, if you don't mind, I will bring Agent Cho back in here and you can sing like the fat lady."

"Bird."

"Whatever."

Jane lifted himself from his seat and leaned in really close to Lisbon. "See ya tomorrow, Teresa."

He exited the room and left a smiling, determined Lisbon alone to wait for Cho and her official statement.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Now You See Me**

* * *

After processing the paperwork that officially made Teresa Lisbon a CI with the CBI, Minelli nodded behind them to Jane, who stood with a tan colored suitcase in his hand. Lisbon turned herself to face him and her eyes flickered down to the suitcase and back up. It was her suitcase from her home.

"Jane retrieved your things for you," Minelli explained. "He offered and I accepted just to get him out of my hair."

Jane sat the suitcase onto the office floor and shrugged. "I just dumped your dresser drawers in here and grabbed your toothbrush and hairbrush," he told her, smiling. "I didn't scrounge around your underwear drawer or anything."

"For God sake, Jane," Minelli scolded. "Can you be any more tactless?"

"Sure I can," he said, his eyes falling on Lisbon. "You ready for country living with a stranger?" He winked at her.

"There's going to be an idiot in them there hills," she told him, scoffing as she rose and walked over to lift her suitcase. "And it's not me," she clarified.

Minelli chortled. "I like her."

Jane shook his blond curls and turned to walk out of his boss's office. Lisbon, carrying her heavy suitcase, followed suit. He heard her behind him struggling with the case. As they neared the elevator, he turned to her and grabbed for the handle, brushing her hand. She looked up at him as she let the case go, sliding the handle into his palm.

"Thanks," she said.

He said nothing, only nodded. She was less flighty since the medication had worn off, but he still sensed the untrustworthy look in her eyes when she stared at him. He couldn't blame her, and he didn't. He watched her as they boarded the elevator. She had been given accommodations in one of the detention suites and had taken a shower. He could smell the "inmate" soap on her skin, and he saw that her blue scrubs had been changed out for an orange jumpsuit, temporarily. She looked like a prisoner, but at least they fit.

"I cleaned up." She said, noticing his eyes on her.

"A process," he replied, smirking.

The road the elevator down in silence. When they got to the parking lot, Jane pointed to an old Citroen DS. The light blue car stuck out in the sea of SUV's and black unmarked police cars that surrounded it. The silver top made it even more unconventional.

"That's your ride," he told her, walking toward it. "Your chariot awaits."

"This contraption?" she replied, stopping and looking at him and then the car. "You're going to drive me in this contraption?"

He feigned hurt as he opened the back door and sat her case on the seat next to his own. He opened the front and turned to her and pointed to the passenger seat for her to get in. She hesitated, biting her lip before hissing in pain after remembering it was cut and sore.

"This is the only ride out of town," he told her. "It runs great!" He was seriously hurt now that she called it his 'contraption'.

She sighed, but walked up and sat in the seat as he closed the door for her. He jogged around the car and got in, shutting his door and putting his seat-belt on. He turned to her and smiled a dazzling smile. She rolled her eyes and took to doing up her seat-belt as he started the ignition.

It was a quiet few minutes with Lisbon staring out the side of the car, watching as the trees blurred by in muted greens and yellows. Jane glanced at her every so often, wondering how to start a conversation with her. She was mysterious to him. Jane was used to figuring out mysteries. Hell, it was his job. But usually, they gave him something to work with, the corpses.

"How long until we get to this place?" she asked, breaking the silence first and surprising him.

Jane pointed to the mountains in the far distance and nodded toward them. "Up there. About an hour. See, they think the further out a place is, the less likely they'll bother to look for you." He shook his head. "But with him, that's not the case."

"He doesn't leave loose ends," she whispered.

"What?"

She turned to him and turned back to the window again, but not before Jane saw a flash of something in her green eyes. He thought he had heard her, but he couldn't be sure. He cleared his throat and looked straight ahead at the winding roads in front of him. It was another twenty minutes of pure silence. Jane couldn't take the silence anymore. The air was too thick.

"Why aren't you asking me about anything?" he asked softly. "My background? My favorite hobbies? Ex-girlfriends who did me wrong? Most women I meet want to know about forsaken lovers."

She turned to him with a slight smile on her face. "When you want me to know, you'll tell me," she said. "I expect the same courtesy out of you, please. Besides, women ask you about ex-lovers because you are a heart-breaker, no doubt. No woman wants a piece of that."

"I already know the basics," Jane told her. "I've read your file, remember? And I resent that."

"So, tell me what you think you know. I know you are dying to."

"That would be unprofessional of me," he said, turning off onto a dirt road.

She watched the gravel kick up as his small car wrapped around the hills and valleys, bringing dust around the car and making it nearly impossible to see out of the side windows. She sighed and sat back against the seat, her head resting on the headrest.

"My husband and son," she started, her voice small even in the quiet interior of the car. "They were killed. Murdered." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "My fault."

Jane said nothing. He just listened as her breathing became louder and her hand flew up to wipe a stray tear from her face. He wanted to reach over and take her cheek into his palm, but he knew she wouldn't allow it and he was making her uncomfortable enough. Instead, he leaned over and reached into the little compartment, pulling out a packet of tissues and handing them to her.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "That must have been hard on you."

"Thanks," she said, taking the tissues. "You already knew that, didn't you?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "It's in your file. It doesn't say anything other than they were victims of a violent crime, though."

He knew she had only told him this because she suspected it was in her file. Actually, she probably read her own file and _knew_ what was in there. Telling him this bit of information wasn't trusting him, it was testing him. To see if he'd press her further. She was a manipulator, after all. It was a classic tactic used by victim's families to try to get information about the case or any leads. Lisbon was using it to try to pry out how much he knew, which was what he said he did.

"What about you?" she asked. "What's your tragic story?"

Jane frowned. "We don't talk about our personal lives. It's unprofessional and doesn't matter," he told her. "It's not useful."

Lisbon dabbed her eyes and nodded. "I understand. But you know something about mine."

"Because it's my job to know," he said. It came out a little nastier than he intended. He cursed at himself and brought a hand up to his curls, wiping the sweat that was beading just at his widow's peak. "My wife," he said out loud. "She was murdered, too."

Lisbon looked sharply at him and he could feel her pity. He hated pity. Pity was for people who deserved it. He didn't. He deserved nothing when it came to his wife.

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding genuine.

"This is the last thing I talk to you about that doesn't have to do with keeping you alive," said Jane bitterly. "I liked it better when you were flighty and distant!" he snapped, angry that she had gotten that out of him so easily.

"I didn't mean—"

"We're here," Jane said, stopping the car, effectively cutting her off. "This is it."

* * *

The cabin was indeed huge. The expansive lines of trees that surrounded the wooden mansion went for miles and miles, as far as Lisbon's eyes would allow her to take in. The structure itself was impressive; a long, winding driveway led to two very heavy looking wooden doors with glass panels that depicted various flowers, floor to ceiling windows that had long, black curtains drawn (probably what Sac PD had put up for privacy and protective reasons), a creek that ran beside the property, and a huge balcony off the side of the house. The cabin was one floor, but the cabin was so large, Lisbon didn't doubt there were at least five or six bedrooms and numerous bathrooms. The gate in which they had entered was keypad access only, and Jane had put in a code and the doors opened to accept them. Pretty high-tech for a cabin so far in the hills.

"Such a nice place," Jane told her. "Too bad it was used for drugs. Sac PD really can pick them. I'll give them that."

"A drug raid, he said?" she commented, watching as Jane lugged their suitcases from the car. "Pretty nice digs for such a rotten operation."

"Says the con woman who escaped a hospital and made my boss nearly cry in frustration," he snorted. "But point taken."

She ignored that and followed Jane up to the doors. He sat the cases down as he fished in his vest pocket for the front door key. He noticed her watching him, but said nothing as he pulled out the key and unlocked the doors. He turned the knob and pressed open the doors, motioning for her to enter first.

"Ladies first," he said, picking up their cases and following her inside. "They said they stocked the pantry and kitchen," he added, closing the doors behind them and locking it securely. "Those lazy bastards must have known this was a high priority case."

"High priority?" she questioned, turning to him as he stuffed the key back in his vest pocket.

"It means you need to be protected at all costs because you have useful information," he explained. "Minelli hired you—notice the air quotation marks—to be a CI. Confidential informant. It means you got the information we want, but you are in danger from an outside source that threatens you giving us that information or if you do give up the information, could endanger your life."

"I know what it means," she snapped. "But I gave Agent Cho everything last night. All of it," she insisted.

Jane smiled at her widely. "Oh, I read your statement. You certainly got Cho really good," he said. "You don't fool me. You have more information that you are withholding from me and the CBI. My job, besides protecting you, is to get it out of you."

"Why are you so interested in Red John?" she asked. "It's more than a professional interest."

"Ooh, good one," Jane said. "What's today's lottery numbers?"

"You don't know who you are dealing with, Agent Jane," she replied, her voice serious. "He's a dangerous man. He leaves no stone unturned. It's for the best."

"Ah, so you don't deny it, then?" Jane said, picking up her suitcase and nodding his head toward a large, open area off the living room. "I'm a cop. I think I can handle it all." He walked toward a closed door and sat her suitcase down in front of it. "Your room."

"You're not understanding me," she said, crossing her arms. "And I don't think I like being manipulated, either."

"That makes two of us," Jane smirked, opening the bedroom door. "You can get out of those," he pointed to her jumpsuit, "and I can see what Sac put in the cabinets. Knowing them, probably a lifetime supply of donuts and coffee."

She sighed in frustration as he walked away from her and ambled toward the kitchen. He wasn't understanding her one bit. Telling him things about what happened and what led up to it happening was not beneficiary to him, and certainly not a safe option. He had disrupted him. There had to be some kind of payback for that. She was trying to keep him out of harm's way! Couldn't that arrogant, self-assured jerk see that? Apparently not. Well, he'd have to pry that information from her. She didn't trust him. This was going to be a great time. Stuck with someone she doesn't trust, whose only goal was to get information out of her. Keeping her safe was just a side job, she suspected. At least, his iciness of her made it feel that way.

She entered the bedroom, dragging her suitcase inside and slamming the door behind her. She looked around the room and found that it was quite nice. She expected it to be mediocre, but it was better than her expectations. There was a large, wooden four-poster bed in the middle of the room with baby blue sheets and a white, lace coverlet, two large dressers on either side, a mirror hung on the wall, and a bath set inside the room in the corner. It was all the extravagance running cocaine could buy, she thought sardonically.

She sighed and turned to her suitcase. She lifted it up with some difficulty onto the tall bed and opened it. Jane wasn't kidding when he told her he threw her dresser drawers upside down and shook them into the case. Nothing was folded anymore. She scrounged around inside and picked out a white t-shirt, blue jeans and clean bra and panties, which were black and matched. She shut the case and walked over to the tub, turning on the warm water and undressing.

She felt the gauze on her neck sticking. The nice police folks had given her some salve to put on the cut so it didn't get infected and had given her a clean gauze. Now, though, it was dirty and needed to be changed. She stripped off the gauze, pulling the stitches in the process and making her cry out in pain. She'd have to figure out where to get gauze later. Right now, a bath was calling her. She still ached from the events of last night.

She stopped the water and dipped her toe in, feeling the nice warmth on her aching skin. She stepped in and sat down, letting out a hiss when the water splashed up and stung some of her cuts and scrapes. Lisbon leaned back and rested her head on the tub, closing her eyes and letting herself drift.

Her thoughts went from what happened yesterday, in her past, and now. All of them were unpleasant. She sighed. How long would it take for Red John to find her? Not long, she suspected. How long would it take for Patrick Jane to realize he's a lot deeper than he thought? She had only wanted him to watch over her because she had a better chance at actually surviving. She realized when she read him last night that something was drawing her to him, and she suspected it had to do with his past, in which he had twice angrily changed the subject. His wife. Murdered. Hmm. Was that the connection she felt? But how? It didn't make sense to her.

She was deep in thought when a knock scared her, causing water to splash over the side of the tub and her to cry out in surprise. She was even more frightened when the door flew open and Jane stepped inside, gun drawn. She squealed and covered herself with her hands, watching Jane turn away from her quickly, his face turning crimson on the cheeks as he put his gun down to aim at the floor.

" _Get out!_ " she cried.

"I'm—I'm sorry! I heard splashing and you shouting so I thought—"

"Get _out_ of here, Jane!"

Lisbon picked up a nearby shampoo bottle and threw it at him, catching him on the arm. He quickly turned around and shut the door. She shrank back down into the water and groaned. Quickly, she gently scrubbed herself with the provided body wash and washed her hair with the conditioner, since the shampoo was lying on the floor across the room where she had thrown it.

Drying herself off and dressing, Lisbon grabbed her hairbrush, shut her suitcase and lifted it down to the floor, sliding it with her foot to the side of the bed. She grabbed a clean towel and dried her hair in a frenzy of strokes, folding the towel and reaching for her brush she pulled out of her case before. She brushed her damp hair and exited the room.

The first thing she noticed was the smell of something Jane was cooking. It smelled good. She followed the smell into the kitchen and saw Jane sliding eggs onto a plate, his back to her. He was singing something. She thought it was an old Spice Girls song. She owned the CD. It had been a gift from her late husband.

"Smells good," she said. It was her turn to scare him. He jumped and turned to her, placing the pan back on the stove. "You listen to Spice Girls?"

He cleared his throat, still embarrassed about seeing her naked upper half earlier. He smiled gently and lifted the plate, handing it to her. He watched her as she took in the food on the plate. "Yeah." He made a little movement with his shoulders, almost as if bobbing to muted music.

"Eggs on rye toast?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I love eggs. I happen to make a mean French omelet, too. The rye bread is the only kind here."

She nodded her head and sat at one of the stools along the extended island. "Thanks."

"Sure," he told her. "Tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee, please."

He turned from her and went to the coffee machine, pouring some coffee into a blue mug and sliding it over to her. He reached over and sat the sugar and creamer holder next to her. She took a sugar and creamer in silence and poured them into the piping hot coffee. She watched as he fixed his own plate of eggs and made himself some tea, choosing a box from the cupboard and smiling at the fact Sac PD had gotten wind he'd be here and loved tea.

He came to sit beside her, watching as she picked at the eggs with her fork. He cleared his throat and swallowed. He took a sip of tea and sighed.

"Sorry about earlier," he said. "I didn't know the room had a bath in the corner. I am sorry for intruding."

"You should have knocked and then asked if I was okay," she said. "Maybe I was undressing?"

"Yes, you're right," he agreed. "I was concerned for your safety."

Something in his tone made her look at him. He was very serious. He was genuinely concerned something was happening to her. She watched him take a long sip of his tea and eat a bit of his toast. He was a cop, though, and being concerned for her well-being was his job. Still, there was something else there. As much practice she had at reading people, Patrick Jane still had mysteries she couldn't solve...yet. She planned on doing just that, though. As much as she hated to manipulate someone with so much unsaid pain in their life, it was something she'd have to do. And letting him in and trusting him was not part of that. She just couldn't. Courteous? Yes. Trusting and letting him inside of her heart and mind? No.

She was about to tell him that he should invest in a lock for her door (which she knew he'd protest) when she happened to glance at the kitchen window above the sink. There, in the window, was a man peering inside, his dark hair billowing in the light breeze, his eyes bloodshot and a smile on his face.

Teresa Lisbon opened her mouth and screamed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 - New Frown In Town**

* * *

"You scared the woman to _death_!" Jane told him. "That's why she's looking at you like that. You're lucky I didn't shoot you!"

Wayne Rigsby had the decency to look ashamed of himself. He slid onto the chair at the end of the island and grabbed a piece of egg off Jane's plate.

"Sorry about that," Wayne said to Lisbon, swallowing the bit of food. "The door was locked and nobody answered when I knocked."

"This idiot, here, is Wayne Rigsby. A member of my unit," Jane introduced. "This is Teresa Lisbon. Currently in hiding."

Wayne smiled at her, but it faded when she did not smile back at him. He turned to Jane and pulled a file from his inner jacket pocket, sliding it over the counter to Jane.

"What's this?"

"Seems like our boy Red John struck again last night," Wayne said, noticing Teresa straighten up and look over at Jane who was looking through the report. "Minelli told me to bring it up to you and see what you can see. Says this murder was done after the attack on you," he said, turning to Lisbon now. "Figured maybe he needed to get his jollies off since he was interrupted the first time."

"And Minelli tells me _I'm_ tactless," Jane muttered. "This smiley is different."

Lisbon tried to peer over to look at the file, but Jane picked it up and looked pointedly at Rigsby, who stole another bit of egg off the plate and was still staring at Lisbon peculiarly.

"Hey! Stop staring at her. She's not interested in you, Bert," Jane said irritably, snapping his fingers in front of Rigsby's face. "Why is this smiley different?" Jane pulled the photo from the paperclip holding it and plopped it down in front of him.

"Stop calling me Bert!" Rigsby said. "I'm much more handsome. And I wasn't looking at her for that reason. Though, she does have a striking profile. Anyway," he said, looking down at the photo, "I don't know. Minelli thought you would."

Lisbon leaned over to have a look at the photo. The smiley face was in its usual spot on a wall, but it was different like Jane said. The mouth of the smile was not turned up like all the other murders. This smile was turned into a frown. She could see Jane looking at her from the corner of her eye, gauging her reaction. She reached over to pick up the photo.

"Let her," Jane said when Rigsby tried to snatch it back. "Maybe she has a clue to it."

Lisbon looked up at Jane and gave him a little nod of appreciation before her eyes traveled back down to the photograph. She had a very good idea of what it was about. She also knew Jane had the same idea, too. She could read it on his face. He just wanted to see if she came to the same conclusion or if her "psychic" skills told her. She could almost feel the cynicism. She sighed and lifted her head up, sliding the photo back over to Jane.

"It's a message," she told them. "The upside down smile is an ode to not killing me... finishing me off. He's sad," she explained. "He's upset he left a loose end." She pushed her plate of food away from her, no longer hungry. Rigsby took her plate and took her toast.

"He's also pissed off," Jane added. "The frown is in anger, not really sadness," he corrected her. "He knows he has unfinished business."

"Boss wants you to go check it out," Rigsby said. "You have more experience with Red John than anyone." His eyes slowly fell to Lisbon beside him. "Well, almost everyone."

"Where is it?" Jane asked. "Minelli thinks it's a good idea to bring her along? Aren't I supposed to be protecting her? Not bringing her out in public?"

Rigsby held up his hands in defense. "Hey! Don't shoot the messenger. You could call him, but the reception is off out here in the sticks. No surprise there," he scoffed. "She's a CI for us, right? So how about you put her to work?"

"Do I have a choice?" Jane sighed. "What the hell is she going to inform me of? That someone likes to finger paint on the damn walls?"

He was being mean, he knew. But, dammit. His job was to keep her in a position to be in a safe environment, and Minelli was having him drag her out in the open. It was risky. But he did know the most about Red John. His eyes closed for a brief moment and then opened them.

"Fine," he said. "We'll head out tomorrow morning."

"Sac PD is pretty pissed that Minelli got them to sign off on you keeping her up here," Rigsby said, jamming a thumb at Lisbon. "Also, the fact they are letting you have a look at the crime scene. After... you know..." Rigsby trailed off.

"Ask me if I give a damn about Sac PD," Jane told him. "I'll read the rest of this tonight," he added, holding up the file.

Rigsby rose from his seat and nodded his head. "I gotta get back. Cho's not allowed to order pizza alone anymore since he keeps ordering plain cheese," he said, grabbing another piece of Lisbon's toast off the plate. "Sorry for scaring you." He turned and walked to the door. "See you tomorrow, Jane."

Lisbon and Jane watched as he left through the large doors. Jane came around the island and walked over to them, pulling out the key and locking the doors. He turned to her as he stuffed the key back in his vest pocket. He shook his head at her, clearly still upset that he was forced to drag her to a crime scene.

"You don't want me to go with you," she stated matter-of-factually. "I can handle it."

"Can you?" he asked her, coming to sit on the stool Rigsby had just vacated. "Because I can't be watching you while I am trying to work. If you pull another runner on me, you could lose your life, Teresa," he told her. "And I don't want that to happen to you."

"What? Like I can't behave myself? The hospital was because of... Well, it won't happen again!" she protested.

"Oh, sheep dip it won't!" he said.

There was a moment of silence before Lisbon burst out laughing. "Sheep dip?"

It took a moment for his brain to catch up with her. He cracked a smile and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. His eyes wandered over her face as she laughed. It was a beautiful thing to see. The freckles that splattered her nose and cheeks moved with the crinkle of her mouth; her green eyes shined brightly and her teeth showed through, allowing him to see the perfect set for the first time since he met her.

"It's something my wife used to say," he told her. "She was never one for cursing."

He told her he'd never discuss his wife with her anymore, but he supposed telling her that couldn't hurt. She pretty much got the hint not to ask him about his past again. He'd respect what he could of hers, at least what wasn't written in her file. Everything else was for her own safety that he know. He was looking at something shining off her neck from the sunlight of the kitchen. It caught his eye as he prepared to turn away from her and clean up from breakfast.

He hadn't noticed her wearing it before. He pointed to it and watched her gaze follow his finger to the necklace. She reached up and pulled at it gently with her fingers.

"What's that?" Jane asked.

She cleared her throat. "My husband's wedding ring," she told him, sadness creeping up in her voice.

"Oh, God! Teresa, I'm so sorry!" he said, shaking his head at his own classlessness. "Really."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she replied. She stroked the ring as she looked up at him. "It's my only connection to him."

He understood that more than she knew. "I'm sorry," he told her. "For everything that's happened to you, Teresa."

"Do you have anything that reminds you of your wife?" she asked. "Something you can't let go of?"

"Yes," he told her. "But it's not a psychical thing I can't let go of." He did not elaborate.

She stared at him for a long time, her eyes trying to find meaning in why he was being so understanding. Finally, he cleared his throat and slid off the stool to clean up the breakfast dishes. She rose to help him, clearing away their dishes while he started rinsing them to put in the dishwasher.

"Why do you hate the Sac PD so much?" she asked him, handing him a plate. "Or, rather, why is it a mutual dislike?"

"Nosy, are we?"

"Call it a curiosity."

"Curiosity killed the cat," said Jane with a smile.

"Cured Polio, too," she countered with a matching smile.

He waited until all the dishes were in the dishwasher before he answered her. He didn't have a problem telling anyone his beef with Sac and didn't mind anyone knowing it, either. Well, the parts he didn't decide to change, that is.

"I was two years into my job here. Rigsby and Cho and I went to case out a place we thought would be used as a dump site," he explained, washing his hands on a dishtowel and leaning against the counter. "Sac PD had the case. Well, anyway, we converged on the place, and Sac PD came rushing in just as I locked onto the suspect. Scared our target and turned him loose."

"You hate Sac for that? Seems petty and childish," she said, unable to control herself.

He frowned at her. "The situation was dire, Teresa. Anyway, I never forgave those bastards. They never forgave me, either. And I don't care."

"Why were they so upset at you? What did you do?"

"I contacted the Professional Standards Unit and told them they just cost California a diamond," he said simply. "Now, what do two people stuck up in the sticks do for entertainment?" he asked her with a wink, letting her know the conversation was over.

"Don't you have a file to read?"

"You are no fun," he said, making her smile as he passed her, picking up the file.

* * *

There was no hesitation when he took her back down into the city in his contraption of a car the next morning. It was a very silent ride, though. Both lost in their own thoughts. Jane's thoughts were on the crime scene he'd be walking into. He wouldn't blatantly admit it to Lisbon, but he was worried about her safety, too, as he chauffeured her around. The upside down smile was a message. He knew those idiots at Sac wouldn't understand what it meant, and all the criminal profilers he heard them get to analyze Red John were either off the mark or completely uneducated about the cases and just making things difficult for him.

For Lisbon's part, she was thinking of last night. She had convinced Jane to allow her to see the file, and in return, she had cooked the dinner, which consisted of a roast, potatoes, carrots and some wine she had found in a back cabinet, in which Jane had told her Sac probably hid on purpose. It was a pretty good night for a cop and his live-in, would-be murder victim.

The file wasn't very interesting in itself, apart from the smiley on the wall. Everything else was details on the woman who lost her life, whom neither she nor Jane knew. She found herself playing with her husband's ring on her necklace as she read the brutal details behind the pictures in the report. She had seen Jane watching her as she took in the words on the page. She even once or twice put her fingers to the wound on her neck.

It was then that Jane noticed for the first time that the gauze she had been sporting was gone. When he had asked her about it, she had told him she couldn't keep it on because of infection as the wound drained. He excused himself and went into the kitchen. She heard him banging around, cursing once or twice, and then he had reappeared with a small, white medical kit.

"There's got to be something in here," he had told her, digging around the box. "Here we go!" he exclaimed, smiling as he had held up a roll of gauze.

Silently, he had put ointment on the stitches and placed fresh gauze over her wound. She had felt his fingers dance gently over her throat as he did so, causing little waves and pulses to flutter down to her stomach. If he noticed it, he hadn't said anything.

She snapped herself back and turned to look at him. He was wearing a look of both concern and of determination. She guessed this was a hard thing for him, even if he was a homicide detective. He pointed up ahead and turned to her, ignoring the fact he had caught her staring at him.

"It's just up here," he told her. "When we get in there, stick with me."

Lisbon nodded her head as he pulled into the driveway of the house. It was still cordoned off with yellow police tape, but no cop or detective was around. This wasn't lost on Jane, who clicked his tongue in disapproval and shook his blond curls.

"This is the kind of shit I am talking about," he told her despairingly. "Always lazy."

He cut the engine and got out, undoing the top of his holster and motioning for Lisbon to get behind him. They both ducked under the police tape and walked up the three steps to the front door. Jane turned the knob and entered, his hand ready on his weapon. It was dark inside. The sun was out, put the shades were drawn to stop nosy neighbors from getting a peek inside.

Jane reached into his jacket pocket and produced a flashlight. He turned it on and handed it to Lisbon.

"Keep that on in front of me," he commanded her. "Keep your eyes open."

They advanced through the first floor, finding nothing out of place. The house was neat as a pin, minus the tracks the forensic guys made walking in and out, and the fingerprint dust everywhere. They started up the stairs and moved into the first bedroom they encountered. It was a baby's nursery, neat and tidy.

"Damn," Jane said under his breath. This woman had a baby. "Come on, next room."

The moved together to the next room. This was the room. On the wall, as they entered, was the smiley face with the frown for a mouth. On the bed, the mattress was stripped down, but there was dry blood all over it and drips on the carpet where it had flowed over. There were small blood spurts on the foot board. Jane looked around the room and could see that the woman had been sleeping when Red John had come in. She hadn't even known what was going to happen to her.

"He caught her by surprise," Jane said to Lisbon. "She was sleeping in her bed and he came in and slaughtered her like a pig." He shook his head and sighed. "Sac PD, you idiots!" he said in disappointment.

He turned himself and looked closer at the smiley with the frowning face. Just perfect. He had pissed off Red John when he interrupted him from killing Lisbon. He couldn't quite see the frown in the dark.

"Hey! Can you shine this light on this? I can't see a damn thing," he asked behind him.

Silence.

He turned and saw that Teresa wasn't in the room with him anymore. He cursed under his breath and raced out of the room. He looked back in the nursery and the small bathroom they didn't get to, but she wasn't there.

"Teresa?" he called out loudly, pulling his Glock from its holster. "TERESA?" he called louder when he got no answer.

He took the stairs back down to the first floor quickly, aiming his weapon as he swept from side to side the living and the dining. When he got to the small kitchen, he breathed a sigh of deep relief as he saw Lisbon staring at the fridge, the flashlight still on in her hands.

"Don't you do anything you are told?" he asked her. "Sometimes I think you need medication. Maybe a GPS tracker sewed in your shirt."

He was too relieved to be angry right now. There would be time for that later. He was concerned, however, when she didn't respond to him. He pressed a hand out and gripped her shoulder.

"Teresa?" he asked.

She pointed to the refrigerator door. "It's me," she said softly. "Me and another photograph."

Jane turned to look at the refrigerator and saw that Lisbon was right. There were two photographs. One was of Lisbon, which Jane assumed was before she was attacked, and the other was a beautiful woman with golden hair. They were pinned up by a cookie magnet with a smile on it. A mocking gesture, no doubt. Jane reached up to pull the golden-haired woman's photo off the fridge.

"Why didn't you stay put?" he asked Lisbon, not taking his eyes off the photograph. "Do you have a death wish or what?"

She shrugged. "He wouldn't leave a frown face and expect that to be the only message," she said. "He has a sense of grandeur. He wants a show. How does he get into homes? The kitchen doors. It's likely he left something else the first place he stepped inside. A token," she explained. "I wasn't wrong."

"I told you to stop reading!" he snapped nastily.

"I didn't read you! Which is what you told me not to do! I was trying to help!" she said defensively. "I was reading Red John's signs!"

"What signs?" he countered. "You didn't follow my rules and you took off and found two photographs that might not be from Red John!"

"I found evidence! You know they are evidence! It's me for God sake!"

"By _disobeying_ me!" He turned to her now. He grabbed her photograph from the fridge and took them in his hand. "Let's go!"

"When are you going to tell me? I know we don't trust each other, but there is a limit, here, Patrick," she said angrily, calling him by his first name and throwing him off.

"What are you talking about?" He gently grabbed her by the crook of her arm, attempting to pull her along.

"When are you going to tell me that the other picture is of your _dead wife_?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – Digging Up Bones**

* * *

She was sitting in the small bullpen, her feet shaking back and forth in nervousness. She watched Jane cross into Minelli's office, the photographs clutched firmly in his hand. He hadn't said much on the way over to the CBI. He was broodingly angry with her for disobeying him and wandering off, but she suspected he was also very upset she had seen and deduced that the golden-haired woman was his deceased wife.

She tried to see into Virgil's office, but the black partition only made the top half of them visible, and when Jane sat down in the chair, the only thing she could see was the top of his golden curls. After a few moments of cumbersome glances from Cho and Rigsby, Virgil Minelli opened up his office door and called out to her.

"Come in here," he told her, motioning her with one hand. "Have a seat, Ms. Lisbon."

Lisbon entered the office and sat down in the chair next to Jane. Jane didn't look at her, instead choosing to focus on Minelli, who came to sit back down. Minelli slid the two photos they had found at the victim's home toward her.

"Do you know why Red John would leave these at our vic's house?" he asked. "Why these two, particularly?"

"I told you, Virgil. She doesn't know a goddamn thing! She found them simply by snooping around and disobeying me," Jane piped up. "Actually, it's all your fault. You are the one who made me bring her along. We could have had Cho babysit her."

"Since when do you answer for her?" Minelli snapped. "Your ass is already on my crap list, Jane. Don't make me wipe with it." He turned back to Lisbon. "Let's forget that question for a moment. Where did this photo come from?" He pointed to the picture of her.

Lisbon reached over and plucked up the picture. The photograph of her was a memory that slowed time. Peripherally, she was aware of Jane and Minelli eyeing her cautiously. She couldn't take her eyes away from it. She was distracted by it because the memory was vivid. It was like colors on a page highlighting what had been a perfect life before. It was something she longed for again. Happiness and fulfillment. She memorized it well. Her fingers reached out to stroke it, recalling back to that time. Her husband had taken it. It was of her smiling shyly at the camera as he cajoled her to look up at him. Sorrow befell her in waves as she smiled at the memory. It was one of the best times of her life. It was half a dozen years before... She suffocated the memory she kept playing back in her mind. She looked up at Minelli and then at Jane, both who were watching her. She delicately cleared her throat.

"It was in a frame on my dresser," she said softly. "He must have taken it before he fled. Or before. I don't really know," said Lisbon truthfully.

"Okay," said Minelli. "Back to my original question, then. Do you know why he'd leave these two photos?"

Jane clicked his tongue and Minelli looked at him with a piercing look before turning back to her. Lisbon nodded her head and tilted her head to the side, looking at the two photographs side-by-side.

"A message," she told them. "He's very melodramatic. He tends to act in a fit of grandeur. He likes to taunt and play because you have been looking for him for years, and you still haven't caught him. I imagine he killed that woman to get Jane and I to that house so we'd see his handy work and find his prize," she explained. "As far as Jane's wife's photograph, I suspect he's trying to tell me something."

"Don't speak of my wife," Jane told her slowly, frowning.

"Not your call, Jane," Minelli said. "Not this time around. I know this is a sore topic ever since Sac PD, but you can't take it out on Ms. Lisbon," he replied to Jane, holding up a finger because Jane was going to interrupt him.

"Jane tells me you knew it was his wife," Minelli said, sighing as he turned back to her. "Can you tell me how you knew that? Jane doesn't speak to anyone about it, and he informed me you knew it without him saying a word." Jane's frown deepened.

"Uh," she said, shifting in her seat. "I study people, sir. It's sort of what I do."

"Read people?"

"She gets inside their head," Jane spoke up. "It's irksome. It irks me."

"I take his micro-expression when he examined the pictures," she stated, ignoring Jane with a curl of her eyes. "He widened his eyes and audibly inhaled at the golden-haired woman's photo. That's a sign that he was having a reaction to someone familiar to him," she went on. "He also turned hostile when I asked him about it. The wife part was a rather natural reasoning from his earlier admission that she was no longer alive."

Jane involuntarily turned to her and she caught a look of sadness in his eyes. The same sadness she felt and reflected when she looked at the photo of herself on Minelli's desk. She suspected Red John's goal was just that. Running around digging up a lot of old bones. The peculiar placement of her photo and Jane's wife's was not lost in Lisbon. She thought she knew exactly what it was doing with hers in a dead woman's home, but she didn't want to be presumptuous about it.

"How did Red John get Jane's wife's picture if you don't me asking?" she asked.

"I do!" Jane said emphatically. "I don't think you have a right to know anything about my wife."

"Jane," called Minelli. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt because I know it's hard," he told him, shaking his head slightly. "But this isn't something we can dismiss. Her picture was with Ms. Lisbon's. Now, I know you know where it came from, and I know you don't want to talk about it," he pushed the golden-haired woman's photo toward Jane, "but if you want to keep Ms. Lisbon alive, it's about time you start talking, even if it does hurt."

"Virgil..." Jane warned, sitting up in his seat. "I don't think I want to dig up those bones about Lucy."

"No, it's okay," Lisbon told them, making both men turn to her. "When he's ready to tell me, he will. I understand the damage talking about it can do. Trust me." She handed him a little grin, which he didn't seem to acknowledge.

His wife's name had been Lucy. She knew a few vital things about Lucy Jane: she was deceased, she had golden hair and blue eyes, and Red John wanted Lisbon to know about Lucy. A connection between Lucy and Lisbon. But how, why? Without Jane explaining anything to her about Lucy, Lisbon was in the dark. She couldn't say what happened to her, but that Jane felt both sorrow and intense guilt. Something Lisbon shared with him about her own family.

"What about the upside down frown?" he asked. "Jane tells me you think it is some kind of message. You seem to think it's toward you? You think he's angry or sad that he didn't get to finish you?" Minelli said. "Sorry for the bluntness."

"I understand. Yes," she nodded her head. "Everything he does is a message. The way he cuts the artery in the neck, the way he applies the blood to the walls of his victim's walls. Even the knife he uses is a message. It says he's precise and clean."

Jane looked at her sharply, wanting to ask her how she knew so much about Red John. He thought he knew the most about the killer, but he was starting to doubt that. He said nothing, though, just watched her. Lisbon was grateful for that. She didn't want to have that conversation right now. But as he had things he didn't want to speak about, so did she.

Minelli was silent for a minute, looking from Jane to Lisbon. Finally, he sighed and sat back in his chair. "Fine. Head back up to the cabin. Take the photographs. We've copied them. If anything else comes up, I will let you know. And if I were you, Jane, I'd keep that gun nearby. We've got a body count to tell us how smart this guy is."

"Gotcha, Boss," Jane stated. "Come on. Let's just get going. We have a long drive ahead," he said to Lisbon, walking past her in an exasperated stride. "That should be fun."

* * *

It was hours later that she pulled the roasted chicken from the oven and carved it, setting the pieces onto the plate and bringing it over to the island with the other items she heated up for them for supper. She poured them each a half a glass of wine and sat down beside him. He was still being very icy with her, choosing not to speak to her since they left the CBI.

"I'm not particularly hungry," he told her, pushing his plate away and instead downing the wine in one gulp.

"Jane," she told him, picking up her fork and picking at her food. "I'm sorry I disobeyed you, okay?"

"No, you're not," he told her. "You think you are, Teresa."

She turned to him and sat her fork down. "It's not my fault."

He nodded his head and reached over the counter for the bottle of wine. "Right." He poured himself another half of glass. "I know that."

She couldn't tell if he was serious or being sarcastic, but it didn't matter. It was the best she was going to get out of him. She turned back to her food and let him gulp down the second half of his wine, licking his lips and sitting quietly for a moment. She ate a bit of her chicken and pushed her plate away from her. She turned to Jane and sighed.

"I didn't want to do this because I wanted to respect your wishes," she started off, "but I think it is only fair. You don't want to talk about your wife, Lucy, and I understand that. You don't trust me, and I don't trust you. But you want to catch this guy and you are avoiding the obvious."

"The obvious?" he asked, raising an eyebrow to her, refilling his glass for the third time.

"Yes. You know that I know she was murdered by Red John," Lisbon said. Jane stopped pouring the wine and set the bottle down with a thump. "And you know that the photographs were a message to you just as it was to me." She hesitated. "You feel an immense measure of guilty conscience. Probably bottle it down. Your defensiveness when it comes to her is because you are afraid that if you show weakness, people will know the shame and pain you feel," she read. "You are angry and resentful of anyone who gets close enough to you because you don't want to let go of the pain. You want to punish yourself with it. Let it fester." She cleared her throat. "Your love life—and personal life in general—has suffered because you push people away. I am no stranger to this, Jane. Only I don't think, in your profession, that is a smart thing to do."

"I told you to stay the hell out of my head! Where are you getting this?" he asked, shaking his head. "What's your aim here? Do you get some kind of sick enjoyment out of reading people's tragedy? Going to make me cry? Should I see if Sac stocked tissues?" he asked derisively. "I don't see any men lining up to find you, either, sweetheart!"

"When are you going to stop asking me that, Patrick?" said Lisbon, annoyed. "I can't repress it. I have to read you. It's in my human condition! And, I am not _looking_ for romance! I've more important matters to care about. You know he is saying that you couldn't save your wife, and you won't be able to save me."

Jane was silent for a long time after that, his eyes never leaving Lisbon's. Finally, Jane stood angrily and walked away from her, but came back and pointed a finger at her. "You don't get to say that to me."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't know anything about Lucy or what happened. You guess and you use your skills that you used to con sick, down on their luck, poor people with to make assumptions and trouble," he told her, the wine starting to make him sway on his feet. "You think that deep down inside I've got a grudging respect for your genius or whatever it is you think you have," he told her with a cynical smile. "The truth is, deep down, I'm scared of you. You've got no limits, you've got no common sense. And one day you're going to create one mother of a disaster for yourself and you're already starting to drag me with you in doing so."

"I am just telling the truth," Lisbon defended. "Red John murdered your wife, and nearly murdered me! He's taunting you about it." She was hurt by his words. More than she believed she would be.

She looked on as Jane closed his eyes and attempted to bring his anger under control. When he reopened them, he stared at Lisbon for a long time before he sighed in defeat. He sat back down on the stool and pulled the photograph of his wife from his jacket pocket. He sat it between them on the island and put a hand through his blond curls. She hesitantly turned herself in her chair and saw he was staring at her, his eyes expressionless and his face a mask of stone. What was the use in hiding it? If the look on her face was any indication, she already knew most of it. Most. Not all.

"Lucy was thirty-two when she was murdered by Red John," Jane told her very softly. "Victim number thirteen. He, uh, he came in through our unlocked kitchen door while I was working the graveyard shift for the Sac PD," he said. "I came home one night in October. I remember that it was colder than any other night here in California." He pressed his lips together, looking past Lisbon rather than at her. "I instantly knew something was off. Something didn't seem right, you know? I called out to her to let her know I was home. Usually, she would meet me at the door and lead me upstairs." He looked back down at the picture of Lucy and touched her printed face with his fingers. "I just thought she was asleep. When I got to our room, it was... It was all so messed up. She was lying on the mattress, bleeding. I put...I put my hands on her throat to try to stop the bleeding, but she was already gone. She was cold to the touch when I cupped her cheek begging her to breathe for me." He began to cry, his tears falling unabashedly. "I didn't save her. I couldn't."

Without thinking, Lisbon brought her arm out and touched his upper arm with her hand, squeezing gently. He looked up at her and suddenly felt ashamed for crying. He tried to hide his face by lowering it back to the photograph, but Lisbon reached the hand on his arm out to lift his chin for him to look at her.

"You have a lot of guilt and accountability that you feel," she whispered. "But the guy is smart and careful. This wasn't on you, Jane. You have to know that you couldn't have saved her. She was beyond help."

"I could have saved her, Teresa," he whispered back in a watery voice. "I had a chance. I had it, and I didn't get it done. It was my fault."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused, letting go of his chin.

"That's a story for another time, Teresa," he told her, his face leaning toward hers. "You're the first person to ever get what happened out of me not directly involved in it. Why do you have this effect on me that makes me want to tell you things?" he asked quietly. "I don't trust you, yet I tell you this stuff."

"I suspect it is the wine inhibiting your rationalizing abilities," she told him. "Alcohol tends to overproduce transmission to the brain."

"Maybe," he breathed, his eyes fluttering from hers to her lips and back up. "Maybe you make me doubt myself. You always seem to know what I try so hard to hide." He sighed. "Both from myself and everyone else. Maybe it's because I relate your own guilt and responsibility. Maybe it's something else entirely."

She knew what he meant by that. Her own guilt and pain were plain as day on her face and in her green eyes. Her own cards, however, were closely guarded. She would not tell him anything about her own situation. The trust wasn't there yet. He had only admitted what she already knew, just filling in the details of it. His confession was also the result of alcohol and anger.

"I don't have—"

"Yes, you do, Teresa. I may not have your skills, but I do have eyes that see."

He was so close to her now that she felt his breath on her face. She cleared her throat and slid off the stool away from him, giving herself a gap. She released a breath she didn't even realize she was holding. Her fingers went automatically up to the ring around her neck, as it did when she was stressed or in anxiety.

"I showed you mine," he said quietly. "Now, show me yours."

She shook her head slowly. "I think I should go to bed." She turned to head back to her room, but Jane caught her upper arm. He spun her around gently. "Jane. Please."

"When you are ready to tell me, you will," he told her, using her own words from earlier in Minelli's office. "But you will at some point. You have to. I'm the only one who knows what it's like, Teresa." He let her arm go and watched her take a step back. "What it's like to come home to his handy work."

"Good night, Jane," she said, turning from him and disappearing into the living room and back into the hallway.

"Good night, Teresa," he whispered, turning to grab the rest of the wine he didn't drink in his flute and his wife's photograph off the counter and headed toward the couch.

He thought he could hear faint crying from her room. He had the strange urge to go and console her. He didn't, however. It wouldn't do them any good at this point. He plopped down on the couch and sighed, taking a long sip of wine and looking at the photo of his wife and listening to the controlled weeping coming from her room.

"There is our connection," he said to the photograph, downing the rest of his wine. "Red John."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 - Manipulations**

* * *

She tiptoed quietly from her room as the sun rose high in the hills behind them. She looked over at the couch and saw that Jane was sprawled out on the couch, the photograph of his late wife on the table next to his empty flute, which was beside the emptied bottle of wine. She breathed inwardly and crept up behind the tan couch, reaching for the cream-colored blanket that was draped over the back.

Lisbon looked down at him and felt immense guilt for what she manipulated him into telling her. Though she had been truthful in everything she told him, her manipulation came from drawing on Jane's emotional state; reaping the benefits of the impact his wife's death and the mental representation of it had on his hard, iron-clad, cop persona. It didn't feel good to manipulate him into sharing how Red John was the connection between them. But, if she was being honest, she didn't regret it. The connection she suspected was confirmed. He wanted proof and evidence? He got it.

She picked up the blanket and walked around the couch to face him, leaning over to drape it over Jane. She gave out a yelp, however, when he suddenly reached up and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her down on top of him. The shock registered on her face as she looked up at him and saw that one of his eyes were open, a ghost of a smile turning the corners of his mouth.

"You shouldn't sneak up on a man with a gun," he told her softly. "It's dangerous. I could have mistaken you for an intruder."

She scrambled back off him and stood, throwing the blanket at him, hitting him in the face with it. He laughed as he sat up and uncovered his face, throwing the blanket to the cushions beside him. She noticed that he put a hand to his head and rubbed his temples with his hands. She bit her half-healed lip and sighed, finally heading into the kitchen. She dug around the cabinets, finally locating the headache medicine. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water.

"Here," she told him, handing over the aspirin. "For your headache."

"Is this because you feel guilty about last night? Resurrecting memories I wanted to keep buried?" He clearly wasn't over last night.

"It's the only way to get you to listen to me," she told him, sitting on the chair next to the couch. "I didn't want to do it."

"Sure," he laughed, popping the aspirin into his mouth and taking them dry without the water. "But we can't touch your tragedy, huh? Off limits?" He shook his head in amusement. "We are doing it your way."

"Getting buzzed on wine when you are protecting someone from a serial killer isn't exactly standard practice," she told him, changing the subject. "I am sorry about last night."

He waved a dismissive hand toward her. "Nothing about this whole thing is standard practice, sweetheart." He sat back and undid the buttons of his vest. He could see her watching him closely as his fingers wrapped around each one, flinging the button through the loop. He smiled discreetly at that. He looked up at her and watched her cheeks grow crimson, her eyes falling back to his.

"What do we do next?" she asked. "I mean since we know Red John's connection between your wife and me."

"Nothing," he told her. "Minelli told us to come back up here and stay low. That's just what we are going to do."

"So now you want to follow the rules?" she asked him, crossing her arms. "You know he's not finished, Jane. We need to get out of here. You said I would be a sitting duck at my house. Imagine me here. He will find out where I am and come looking to finish me."

"Of course not," he told her, trying to knead his neck muscles with his hand. "Serial killers don't take vacations, Teresa." He dropped his hand and shrugged one broad shoulder. "But we are up here, and he is way down there for the time being. If anything happens, someone will come."

"Why send us to a place that has no phone access? What sense does that make? How would you call for help?" she asked, her mind racing now. "Doesn't that seem a little counter-productive?"

"Nice to know Sac PD gives a shit, huh?" He laughed darkly. "They don't give a damn, Teresa. But I will always save you. I will. No matter how much you get on my nerves with your psychic crap and digging up things about my past, I will always put you first. Take solace in that." His face was serious. "If you have to choose only that to trust me on, it would be a safe bet."

"I have no choice," said Lisbon. "You're the only one here with a gun."

"There. See? Who said trust is dead between us?" He smiled a dazzling, innocent smile. "Progress."

"Meh," she replied with a slight smile of her own. She was silent for a moment. "Why do you hate Sac PD so much? You never answered that."

He looked at her and leaned forward. "When you tell me something about your past, I will tell you more about mine. That's my deal. Until then, case closed. Conversation over. 10-4, over and out!" He lifted himself from the couch. "Want eggs? I'm still a little woozy from last night, so you might get a shell or two..."

"My husband," she said, causing him to spin around and stop his advancements. "His name was Max. My son's name was Ethan," she told him, touching the ring with her fingers unconsciously. "They were murdered almost eight years ago." She shook her head and closed her eyes, unwilling to allow the exhumation of memories to overwhelm her. "My...my son...he..." She reopened her eyes and found Jane standing directly in front of her, his eyes soft with knowing. He knew what she was feeling. She had made him feel that last night.

"Shh," he told her, holding out his hand and stroking her knuckles with his fingers. "It's okay. Take your time."

"My reading of people has a negative impact," said Lisbon. "I don't think you've read my whole file, have you?"

He dropped his hand and shook his head. "I didn't get a chance to get through it all," he admitted. "Why?"

"The whole thing is in there," she told him. "How my husband begged me to stop pretending I could read minds and cold-reading people and collecting the money. How he had told him that things like this could get me in trouble. He wasn't wrong. He was never wrong." She cleared her throat. "So, you need some help with those eggs?" she asked, moving around him to the kitchen.

"I don't want to hear about it from your file," he told her. "Which I gave back to Minelli, anyway. I want to hear it from you, not pieces of paper." He walked past her and reached for a frying pan. "But since you told me something, I guess I can tell you the story of why I hate the Sac PD. Those lazy, no good bastards and their half-assed police work." He sat the pan on the stove and turned on the burner. "Hand me two eggs."

* * *

When Grace Van Pelt walked into the CB, she knew something wasn't right. It was strange to see Minelli's door closed this late into the morning. As she walked closer to the door, she noticed the light was still on. The uneasiness crept on her as she knocked on the window. When she didn't get an answer, she stepped on her tiptoes and looked through the clear top of his office walls, over the black partition on the bottom.

Inside, Virgil Minelli's office was wrecked. There were cabinets all thrown from the walls they stood against, papers and folders and files spread all over the floors and his desk. Grace's breath caught in her throat. She opened the door carefully and entered. She stepped inside and looked around at the mess.

"What the...?" she asked the empty room.

It was when she took two more steps inside that she saw a pair of legs stretched out behind Minelli's desk. Grace gasped and ran over, dropping to her knees and shaking the body of Virgil Minelli.

"Sir? Sir?" she called, shaking him violently in an attempt to wake him. "Virgil!"

She turned herself and grabbed the telephone off his desk and dialed down to security. Once she explained the situation and was assured they were on their way with help, Grace tried once again to rouse her boss. Finally, she felt him stir beneath his fingers. He groaned as she helped him sit up, propping him up against the back of his desk.

"Boss? You okay?" Grace asked. "I called for help. What happened?"

"I'm fine," he said though his voice betrayed him. "I don't know what happened, Van Pelt. One shock to the back and I was out. They take anything?" he asked, his breathing speeding up.

Grace looked around, her eyes scanning everything. It was hard to tell because the files had all been torn from their places and strewn all about the room. She shook her head and looked back down at her boss, who wasn't looking too well.

"I can't tell," she told him truthfully. "You didn't have anybody's files in here did you?" she asked.

"I had some files transferred here a couple days ago," he told her. "Is there anything in the bin on my desk?"

Grace could hear security coming, the elevator dinging and their heavy boots heading in their direction. Grace propped herself up and looked at the disheveled desk. There was nothing in the bin except a folder.

"A folder," she told him. "It's kind of flat, though. Looks empty."

"Shit," he whispered, watching as Grace got to her feet to meet the security guards. Medical help for Minelli was still coming. "Van pelt!"

"Yes, boss?" she asked, leaning back down close to him.

"I need you to do me a favor. It's important."

"But..."

"Grace, trust me."

"Okay, boss. What is it?"

"Go warn Jane that someone stole Teresa Lisbon's file."

* * *

"We were doing a night sting," he started, pushing her plate toward her and sitting down with his own. "It was my squad searching out a neighborhood we thought might have some illegal activity. You know? Drugs, gangs? We thought they'd use it as a dump site. Throw illegal weapons, drugs there. That sort of thing."

Lisbon listened intently, watching as he scooped eggs into his mouth. "What happened?"

He looked up at her and chewed his eggs thoughtfully. "Well, after sitting there for about three hours, I see this small movement coming from the back of a house about four rows down. In the shadows."

"What did you do?" She was fully engrossed in his story of why he hates Sac PD.

She couldn't blame him. She hated Sac PD, too, but because they had shuffled her around from person to person when she approached them for information. If her surviving Red John had taught her anything, it was the fact that the CBI gave way more cares than the Sac PD did. And, in particular, Patrick Jane.

He would never admit it, but she saw it in his face. He cared about her. Caring and trusting were two very different things. You can care about someone so deeply you feel it in your heart, but not trust them. And this was the case with Jane. He didn't treat her like a victim. That lent itself to the fact that he, too, is a victim. He treated her with apprehension, sure, but he also treated her better than just pushing her aside and telling her to suck it up.

"I was the investigating officer. I investigated," he told her, shoving a forkful of egg into his mouth. "Rigsby and Cho were in a car two lengths behind me. I called back on my radio and told them I saw a subject in motion." He lifted his eyes to hers and shrugged. "Cho and Rigsby stayed in the front of the place while I went to the back. The kitchen door was open, so I walked in." He smiled at her. "I was sure I would be catching a crook that night!" His smile disappeared. "I walked in, and I hear a noise from upstairs. I head to the front with my weapon out. I didn't call out because I didn't want them to run."

He finished his eggs and stood to put his dish in the sink, turning around and leaning on the counter. His expression changed a little. It became hard and defunct of any emotion. He looked like he was thinking back on it. She cleared her throat softly and stood, taking her own plate over to the sink and leaning herself on the counter next to him. She looked over at him and smiled a little.

"Sounds like the night you saved my life," she said. "Minus the not calling out part. I never properly thank you. Thank you for coming to get me, Patrick."

He gazed at her unwaveringly. This was the first time she told him he had saved her life. She didn't back down from his gaze, either. She had wanted to tell him that he saved her life when she had shown up on his doorstep, but she didn't get the chance to do it. Or, rather, her trust wasn't in its first stages to do so.

He cleared his throat and finally looked away from her. "Right. Well, I go upstairs, and I turn to wordlessly tell Cho and Rigsby to hold their positions. You know? Wave to them and tell them to stay put. Like dogs!" He laughed and then sighed. "Anyway, I see something go behind me from the corner of my eye. I turn and follow the stairs and I see a door slightly open at the end of the hall. I go down there slowly, gun drawn. I open the door further, and nobody is there. As I turn around, I see him! He is taking off down the stairs."

"Wouldn't Rigsby or Cho catch him?" she asked.

"Ah, and there is the shtick. When he bounds down the stairs, Rigsby and Cho are gone. I chase the guy out the kitchen door, but he was gone in a flash. It was two in the morning, and there was no light out the back of the property. Kind of like your place," he told her, eyeing her sideways. "I see one last thing before I lose him, though."

"What?"

"Coming back to that. So, I run out and around the building, and I see Sac PD pushing Cho and Rigsby along the sidewalk. I run up to them and ask them what the hell their problem is. They tell me that this is their jurisdiction and that we didn't get the proper approval to do our sting. Bullshit!" He placed a hand through his hair. "It was all set up."

Lisbon looked at him in confusion after a moment. "You hate Sac PD for that? I know you said not to read you, but I sense more to this story, Jane." She turned to him, leaning her hip against the sink.

"Oh, there is," he confirmed, nodding his head. "But you need to tell me more about your past before you get any more of mine." He smiled mischievously at her.

She smiled back. She couldn't help it. He was playing a cat and mouse game with her. Something she was too good at for him to win. But she'd let him think he had the upper hand. She reached out quickly and straightened his vest, doing up his buttons again and running her hands along the silky material.

"You'll be waiting a long time, Patrick," she told him quietly, looking up at him. She felt his hands cup her elbows.

"I'll wait," he assured her. "We've got nothing but time, Teresa."

She saw his head tilt toward her infinitesimally, so she pushed her arms down and stepped away from him. She walked past him, leaving a sizable gap before turning back to him as he called out to her. He was going to kiss her! For the second time since they'd held up here, he was leaning in to kiss her. She had to get out of that situation. Though she felt a pull toward this cop with an attitude issue and mood swings, something was holding her back.

"You're welcome, Teresa."

"For what?" she asked.

"Thanking me for saving your life," he told her. "I told you I would save you, Lisbon. That's one." He held up his finger and smiled.

She smiled back, turned around and headed for her room. Once she got behind the closed door, she sighed and looked down at her hand. Opening her palm, the front door key that Jane used to lock the front door was sitting in her hand. Her manipulation to get him to be distracted enough to not notice her hand slipping in his vest pocket as she done up his buttons worked. The wanting to know about Sac PD? A successful bait and deflection to get him to trust her enough. She thought about going out the windows, but she noticed that every window she looked at, including the back patio door, had alarms on them that went off whenever they were opened. While she was pretty sound minded, she had no familiarity with technology and would never be able to cut off the alarms. Damn those drug lords and their over-the-top precautions!

Then there was the story she had told him to get him talking. The story of her family was almost true. She changed the names and number of years ago they were murdered, taking a shot in the dark that he didn't know the truth. She still didn't trust him and him telling her he never bothered to read all of her file fell in her favor. His trust for her was starting to come around. She felt guilty about that. Everything else was honest. The thank you for saving her life, even the temptation in her eyes for him. The attraction he felt certainly wasn't one-sided, but she couldn't focus on that. It was a diversion and a dangerous thing to be involved with. She told him the truth. She wasn't looking for romance. It didn't mean it wouldn't still come.

She'd go while he was busy in his own room or something. Be gone before he noticed the key missing. She couldn't stay around here and hope to god he could protect her. They were doing no good here. Red John would be here. She had no doubt. Even he had no doubt, but he was doing nothing about it. She knew a lot about Red John. She should. Her son and husband were murdered by him. Just another cog in the connections. Red John was playing a dangerous game. Where would she go? What would she do when she finally left? Go back home? She was a sitting duck in both places. She'd have to figure that out when the time came for her to take off. Her only regret was leaving Jane behind. But he was a cop. He had a gun. He could protect himself ... right? She took the key and placed it in her jeans pocket. She'd figure everything out later. Right now, she needed a bath and clean clothes and time to think.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 - Dead End**

* * *

Grace Van Pelt was startled to see two plain-clothed officers from the Sac PD outside the gates of the cabin. She pulled up alongside them and put her brake on. Rolling down her window, she turned toward the chubby cop with a large drink clutched in a fat hand. She leaned over the passenger seat and called out to him.

"Hey!" she shouted, motioning for him to put down the window. "Did Minelli assign you outside the gates?"

The fat cop smiled, the residual remnants of burrito stuck in his teeth. "Sure did, Ma'am," he told her. "After what happened with the photographs, he laid a call to Sarge and here we are."

"And your buddy?" She nodded toward the skinny cop with the birds nose. "Him, too?"

"Who? Danny?" he said, turning to the other cop. "He's my partner. My name's Royce."

"Well, can you open the gates, please? I am here to see Agent Jane," she said, pointing up toward the house. "Have you seen anything suspicious lately while on patrol?"

"Not a thing, Ma'am," he told her. "Can I see some ID? No offense, lady, but we can't just let anyone in here," the fat cop named Royce said. "I'm sure you can understand that."

She took the badge hanging off her lapel and handed across to the cop, who looked it over and nodded his head, handing it back. He motioned for his bird partner to get out and punch in the code, letting the doors open freely for her. She took back her badge and re-positioned it back in her lapels, thanking them as she put her car in drive and turned into the long, winding drive up to the cabin. In the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something flash by. She slowed, ignoring her usual penchant for wanting to investigate. Up here, animals flew back and forth all the time.

She got up to the front of the large cabin and parked, tapping her brake and cutting the engine. She exited the car and looked around. It was nice. Much nicer than any holed up place normally looked. She lifted herself over the two large, stone steps and knocked on the large wooden doors with floral designed panels.

At first, nobody came to the door. She stood there and tried to peer into the glass, but she couldn't see a damn thing. Nothing surprising. Drug lords often tinted glass or made some kind of decoration change so they couldn't see inside. She raised her hand and knocked once again, this time seeing a shadow just behind the panels.

"Jane?" she called out. "It's Van Pelt. Minelli told me to come by. Something's happened."

"Grace?" he called out. "What's happened?" She could hear a little of worry in his voice. "Shit! Where did I put the key? It was in my vest. Give me a second, VP."

She could hear him move away from the door. He was gone for about two minutes before he came back, his voice angry and hard. She could hear him kick the door hard, crying out in pain when he hurt himself.

"She stole my fucking key!" he said irately. "She's gone, VP."

"Can you get the door open?" Van Pelt asked.

"Not without a key. Come to the back. I'll open the patio doors," he instructed her. "Cover your ears, Grace."

She moved around the large cabin, following the wooden pickets that held the foliage in beside the house. Finally, she came upon the double patio doors in the back. She saw Jane coming toward her, his face twisted in anger and worry. He was dressed in a white t-shirt and dark blue jeans, his blond hair dark from a fresh shower. He slid the lock and opened the door, setting off the high-pitched squeal of the alarm. He grabbed her gently by the wrist and yanked her inside, closing the door and locking it, sighing as the alarm quieted and fell silent.

"She's gone! She stole the key out of my vest and took off when I was in the shower! She had the manners to lock the goddamn door behind her," he said angrily, sitting down on the couch and putting on his socks and shoes. "She's too much! Oh! She is _way_ too much!" he grumbled. "What are you here for?" he finally asked Van Pelt, turning to her as he put his holster on. "What happened?"

"Minelli told me to tell you—"

"You know what?" he said, cutting her off, "save it for when we find this crazy woman and bring her back. Where the hell does she think she is going to go? There's a fence higher than my goddamn ego around this place!"

"Why can't you get out from this side?" Van Pelt asked.

"Paranoid drug lords, Grace," he told her. "They rigged it so only a key can get you in or out. Useful for our situation, too, if she hadn't manipulated me into stealing my key!"

"Manipulated?"

He cleared his throat and headed for the patio door. "Don't ask. Come on."

"Won't the alarm go off? We have to get back in somehow?" Van Pelt said.

"We're going to find Teresa Lisbon and my goddamn key," he promised her. "She had a fifteen-minute head start," he said. "She couldn't have gotten far."

"You're worried about her," Grace observed. "You seemed kind of stiff and mean when we met. I didn't think you cared about anything."

"She's my responsibility, Grace," he told her. _And I think I may be attracted to that pain in the ass,_ he added silently.

"Minelli is going to be pissed if you lost her while trying to protect her from a serial killer who is trying to finish his job."

"Shut up," he said.

"What was she wearing?" she asked, remembering the flash of something she saw while driving up.

"Tight blue jeans and a green blouse with the top button undone," he told her. "What? I am a man..." he added off her look.

"I think I might have seen her running along the drive when I was driving up. I thought it was an animal," she admitted.

"Well, then we know where to start. Come on. You can tell me about Minelli and your presence here while we hunt this pain in my ass."

* * *

She made her escape while he was taking a shower and changing out of his suit. She had thought about it like she said, but in the end, she couldn't sit back and relax knowing that nothing could ever be enough between her and Red John's grip. She had slipped out the front door, locking it behind her, and had taken off, running down the path and into the dense shrubs and trees surrounding the property.

She had seen a car passing her just as she ducked into the trees, but she didn't think the driver saw her. Whoever they were, they were heading up to the cabin, and Jane would soon know she had escaped. She slowed down, massaging a stitch in her side and leaned up against a tree, trying to decide where she was going to go when she was free of the cabin in the hills and Patrick Jane. She didn't have many options. There was a cabin her husband and herself had on the lake a few miles away that they use for summer vacations, but she didn't know if she could risk it. She had thought about turning around and going back, but she didn't think that would be wise. She was doing what she thought was right. Plus, something about this whole arrangement didn't sit right with her. Only Jane to "protect" her? No phone contact? Why would a boss with a very meticulous set of standards be okay with this? It didn't sit too well with her.

Then there was Patrick Jane himself. She could no longer deny being attracted to him. She felt it and she knew he felt it, too. She couldn't do this. She wouldn't let her mind open and her heart splayed out for him to pick apart. It was better that she not get too close to him. She pawed the ring around her neck and kept moving. The front door key in her pants pocket dug into her leg as she ran.

She could see the large stone barrier ahead of her, and she knew she was just on the fringe of the property. Freedom was just over that. She looked up at it and cursed under her breath.

"Damn," she said, looking at the twelve-foot structure. "How the hell do I climb that?"

Far off in the distance, she could hear two voices calling out her name. It was Jane, but she couldn't make out the female voice. A pang of jealousy, unreasonable and unwanted, hit her. She pushed that to the side and looked up at the structure again. There was no way she'd be able to make it over that. She'd have to double around and find the gate.

She jogged along the fence and followed it until she gave way to the pavement on the other side. She could see the fence just a few feet away. She was about to step out and try to squeeze through the gate's iron arms when someone grabbed her from behind, spinning her around and smiling at her.

"Got you," he said as she gasped.

Jane and Van Pelt met up with Royce and Danny, who had Lisbon sitting in the back of their unmarked car, twenty minutes later. Jane motioned for Grace to go back to the cabin and head home. She had told him about Minelli and what happened, which seemed to make Jane even angrier. After Grace departed, he asked Royce and Danny to step out of the car so he could speak to Lisbon alone.

"From now on, I will sponge bath," he told her. "You took off and put yourself at risk, Teresa. You stole my key from my vest. Neat trick, by the way. Don't do it again."

"You will regret not listening to me, Jane," she told him, turning toward him. "He's got a plan. He's just waiting it out."

"You abide by my rules, Teresa! Not your own! I am protecting you! I am the one who was worried sick tailing you! Wondering if you were going to go do something stupid!" He was angry, his voice loud and booming in the small car. "You manipulated me into telling you something so you could steal the key from me. Clever. Should have figured you actually didn't care!"

"I do care," she said softly. "I didn't only do it for the key, you know."

"Bullshit, Teresa. You can't be trusted. I knew trying to trust you was wrong. It bit me on the ass. You are difficult and tiring and I don't know that I can deal with this anymore."

"So, you want to pawn me off on those idiots," she chinned toward the two bumbling cops now playing a game of rock, paper, scissors in front of the car. "Give me to them and let Red John kill me? Or would that be too much for you?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I don't want you playing hero and trying to make up for what happened to your wife by saving me," she told him bluntly. "I'm not her."

"You aren't," he said softly, sighing and sitting back in the seat. "And I am doing my job. My job is rescuing people, Teresa. Well, rescuing their family from the unknown. I don't want to be your hero. I just want to keep you safe."

"You know that place is no safer than my house in which you saved me from," she said. "And you can't be mad at me for trying to save myself."

"I am not mad at you," he told her. "I am, that was a lie. But you have to trust me." He held up a hand. "I know, I know! You don't trust me, but you are going to _have_ to. I am all you got."

"I have them," she said with a small smile, pointing to the two plain clothed Sac PD officers now fighting over who won the game they were playing.

He cracked a smile. "Good luck."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"No, you're not."

"I'm not."

"This was a very stupid thing to do, Teresa," he told her. "Where would you have gone if you even got past everything? There's nowhere for you to go."

She looked over at him and chose that moment, to be honest. It was the least she could do for the trouble she'd caused. "My husband, Sam, owned a cabin on the lake. I still own it. I was thinking there," she said, shaking her head, "but I didn't think I would get there without someone noticing."

"Sam?" he asked, blinking. "I thought his name was Max?" He looked at her sharply. "You lied about that, too, didn't you?"

She shrugged. "It's what I do, Patrick. Lie. Trick. I play games. But you can look at my file if you want," she told him. "Sam was my husband and Lucas was my son."

She was sad reciting their names. She knew it reflected on her face, too, because Jane's expression softened. She saw his eyes dart to the two standing in front of the car and he shook his head at her.

"Later," he told her. "I still can't believe Minelli called Sac PD and had them bring two idiots over here." He shook his head at her. "Speaking of Minelli, Grace was here to tell me something."

"Oh?"

"They stole your file," he told her.

She looked at him and frowned. "Who?" she whispered.

"That's the million-dollar question, now isn't it?" he told her.

"Red John took it," she whispered, her breath catching. "It had to be him! He had to have taken it! He knows I am here!"

"Shh!" he told her, bringing a hand up to her chin and turning her to look at him. "We don't know that, Teresa. And we don't put witness protection in files," he assured her softly. "Whoever took it obviously doesn't know where you are."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

He smiled at her question. She was going to trust him on this. She trusted him to tell him the truth about her family's name. It was progress. He nodded his head at her.

"Yes," he said. "Positively positive. Now, let's have these two idiots drive us back up to the cabin and you can clean yourself up. You have tree in your hair," he reached up and pulled a green leaf from her dark hair, "and you have dirt on your beautiful face." His thumb smudged a dirty spot on her skin.

He let go of her chin and opened the door of the unmarked car, telling to two cops that he'd appreciate a drive up to the cabin. They agreed readily and got inside, starting the car and drifting up to the cabin. They could hear the alarm from around the house. Royce told Jane and Lisbon he'd check it out and close the door for them. He came back a few minutes later and gave them a thumbs up.

"All clear," he told them.

"Thanks," Jane told him, pushing Lisbon along toward the front door. "The key."

Lisbon took the key from her pocket and gave it to Jane, who turned it in the lock and opened the door. He ushered Lisbon inside and watched as the car with the two cops fell out of sight. He turned to Lisbon and frowned at her.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I don't feel safe here, Jane," she told him. "Something is wrong."

"Teresa," he said, sighing. "Nothing is going to happen to you. I've been through this with you."

"Jane, I don't feel safe!"

She was nervous and on the verge of tears. "It feels like the night I found my husband and son!" she told him. "Please. Believe me!"

Jane closed the gap and reached out for her, bringing her in his arms. "Shh. Don't worry, Teresa. I won't let anything happen to you. I need you to know that."

He tilted her head back and took hold of her chin. Looking down at her watery green eyes, he smiled softly at her. "I've been trying to do this for days," he told her. He brought his mouth down to hers and kissed her, his hand sliding down to the small of her back and bringing her flush against him.

Lisbon did not refuse this time. She allowed him to kiss her, bringing her hands up to paw through his curls. She hummed lightly against his mouth, pulling him harder against her mouth. With a gasp, she broke the kiss and stepped back from Jane, putting a hand to her lips and licking them.

"I'm sorry," Jane told her. "I didn't mean..."

"It's okay, Patrick," she told him, though she turned around and ran into her room slamming the door behind her.

Jane stood there in his white t-shirt and jeans, his lips still humming with the taste of her, watching the closed door for a moment. After a moment of hesitation, Jane walked over to her bedroom door, opened it, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 - Half-Truth**

* * *

When the door snapped closed, Lisbon turned her body, distracting herself with the bath she was running. She felt him come to stand directly behind her, the heat of his body invading her personal space. She splashed her hand under the water, willing herself not to turn around and face him. She was afraid if she did, he'd see the shame on her face and the degradation in her eyes.

"Why do you insist on running off whenever I try to kiss you? Or, in this case, actually _kiss_ you?" he asked her softly. "Are you afraid of me as well as not trusting me?"

She scoffed and shook her chestnut curls. That wasn't it at all. She wasn't afraid of him at all. She felt him looming over her shoulder, so she cast an eye at him and sighed heavily. She turned her bath water off and turned to him finally, realizing he was much closer than she anticipated.

"I'm not afraid of you, Patrick," she told him. "I am afraid of doing something out of emotional distress and regretting it later. I feel ashamed because you are not my husband," said Lisbon with truthful ferocity. "I take off because..."

She trailed off and looked up into his bluish-green eyes, watching as he tried to understand her. He said nothing but waited for her to go on, placing his hands in his jean pockets, his wrist resting against the butt of his gun in his holster. He tilted his head and nodded slightly for her to go on. It showed that he was listening attentively.

"Because I don't want to admit to myself that I _enjoyed_ it," she revealed, licking her bottom lip in unconscious movement, noting that the cut on it had long healed. "I don't _want_ to enjoy it! I shouldn't want to!"

"Why?" he asked her in a hushed tone. "What happened just now wasn't wrong. You shouldn't be ashamed or feel bad for doing it or wanting to do it."

"Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't feel bad for," she scolded him. "Just because you can move on from your wife doesn't mean I can my husband." She wanted to take it back as soon as it came out of her mouth, but she couldn't. She had aimed for his heart and she had put an arrow straight through it.

"You can't even be honest with me about your family, Teresa! You are pulling away! You want to open up to me, but you refrain because you can't stand how much I understand your pain! You hate that. It makes you feel normal! Not like a grieving wife and mother, Teresa. We're equals."

"No! It's because you can't be trusted!" She retorted. "Your only job is keeping me alive. Why? I don't know. I suspect you think I can finally help catch this sick killer. Well, I can't!" She narrowed her eyes at him. "You wouldn't understand."

"You want to stand here and lie about your husband and son, smudge their memories with your evasive lies, fine! But don't you take it out on me, sweetheart!"

"I'm _not_ a replacement for your wife!" she shouted at him.

"Okay," said Jane softly. "I have put up with your trust issues, your running off, and even your reading of things I never let anyone dig out of me," he growled in a low voice. "But I have had enough of your emotional abuse. I have had ENOUGH!"

She looked at him and rather thought he looked dangerous when he was angry. His eyes flashed and she could see his jaw muscle tighten in response to her words. It had hurt him, she saw. She shook her head at him again and laughed without humor.

"I am not doing anything but stating the truth. You can move on from your wife's death easily," she told him. "Kiss a woman? Jump in the nearest bed? You've known me only a few days and you _already_ tried to kiss me twice, and actually _kissed_ me once. Is there no shame?"

Jane looked as if he had been slapped across the face backhanded. He looked at her darkly and sighed. He pushed a hand out of his pocket and rubbed his neck, casting his eyes from her.

"Yeah," he told her. "Well, sweetheart, we are on this earth alone now that they're gone," he replied. "You want to be alone in this world, living each day without them over and over, fine. I am not moving on from my wife," he added. "I am just adapting. I definitely am not trying to replace her! You're not replacing your husband, either." He took his hand off his neck and reached out to tuck in a stray curl from her face. "It's comfort, Teresa. It's the familiarity in our pasts. Tragic duo." He dropped his hand from her. "But I see you don't want it. I am sorry for kissing you."

She just stood there gazing at him. She was surprised when he, on the spur of the moment, stepped forward and reached out for her waist and brought her roughly against him, taking her mouth in his before she could protest. He kissed her lackadaisically, his lips pressing hard. She didn't fight with him. She kept her hands to her sides and let him go. She didn't want to fight anymore. She was utterly perplexed. She didn't want this, but yet she did nothing to stop it. She couldn't get her body to cooperate and push him off.

As quickly as he had grabbed her, he released her. He bent his lips down to her ear and whispered softly. "Okay. I've lied. I am _never_ sorry for kissing you."

Without a word, he turned around and exited her room, leaving her standing there in shock. She watched the door wobble for a second before she sat down on the edge of the tub and played with her necklace. He wasn't entirely wrong. But she had a hard time understanding that to love again was something normal and healthy. She much rather live with the pain and tragedy. The things she did in her past and the things he would find out about her in the present. The attraction was and is a deadly thing. It just made you vulnerable. Made you put down your guard and let your masks crumble.

She stood and wiped a stray tear from her face, turning to strip off her dirty clothes and clean herself and the thoughts from her mind about one Patrick Jane.

* * *

He took the file and smiled. Flipping to the first page, he saw her picture. Though she had the gash he had left on the skin across her throat, she looked rather the same from the last time he encountered her. Her hair had grown out a little, but she was the same. He brought a gloved finger out to stroke the side of the photographs face. He pulled the photo from the paper-clip and closed the folder again, setting it down next to another.

He picked up the other folder, opening it and removing that photograph as well. Lucy Jane was smiling in this shot that gave a face to the body found in the house all those years ago. He sat the two women side-by-side and took to remembering how he had killed one and nearly killed the other. He also remembered killing Teresa Lisbon's family. How he had come to collect on her debt, and how he had found her away, but her husband and son asleep on the couch, watching a movie together. How he had crept in and taught her a lesson about messing with him! How he had enjoyed envisaging the look on her face when she came home to see his handy work.

That's what she got for everything she did. If Patrick Jane could only know the role she had in his own wife's death. But Patrick Jane was not without risk. Bringing them together to tear them apart wouldn't be enough. When the ashes fell and the phoenix tried to rise back out of the dust, he'd have to go, too.

He never really liked that fairy tale bullshit. It made for good kiddie tales, but in the _real_ world, everything had a price. Patrick Jane would _know_ that price. Teresa Lisbon would _be_ that price. When he finally learned the truth about her, the protection she was seeking and comforted somewhat by would no longer be there. He'd leave her high and dry. And then he'd strike.

He took the photos and tucked them back into the files, pushing it away and tapping his finger on the table in front of him. He'd have to thank his good friend for getting Teresa Lisbon's file for him. Make it worth his while. He smiled once again before getting up and picking up the folder, tucking it in a drawer and locking it.

While it didn't have where they took her, it didn't have to. He knew exactly where she was hiding. All in due time, though. All things in due time. He laughed as he flipped off the light with a gloved finger, setting the room in darkness as he shut and locked the door.

* * *

"Boss!" Rigsby called out, watching as the older man walked into the bullpen, massaging his aching bones from the immobilizing stun gun shot into his back hours before. "They let you out?"

"It's not a prison, Wayne," he told him, dismissing Rigsby's help when he stood halfway up to catch his precariously teetering boss. "Anything new about who could have stolen the file?"

"I checked all the footage from that time frame," Van Pelt piped up. "Nothing. Whoever it was had come and gone without raising suspicion."

"Did you let Jane know about it?" he asked, stretching his painful muscles.

"Yeah," she said, nodding her head. "Uh, she tried to escape."

"Jane probably got on her nerves," he said, sighing. "I take it she didn't get that far?"

"No," Van Pelt said. "She's back and everything is fine."

Minelli nodded his head and turned to Cho. "Terrific. She's back and cooped up with Agent Pain-in-the-ass again. Do we have any leads on Red John or his whereabouts? Any leads at all?"

"No," Cho told him, shaking his head. "However, we do have some information on the victim where the photographs were found. Seems she's connected to some kind of inner peace and mind cult. Uh," he leaned over and rifled through some papers on his desk, "Visualize."

"Take Rigsby and check it out. Ask them if they are familiar with Teresa Lisbon."

"Got it, Boss," Rigsby said, standing and snatching up his jacket. "We are so getting Big Gulps."

"I am going to need the sugar after dealing with these cult people," Cho acquiesced. "I'm already falling asleep."

Minelli rolled his eyes and turned to Van Pelt. "Keep looking through that footage. If you find anything fishy or out of place, let me know."

"They fingerprinted your whole office," Van Pelt abreast him. "It's still messed up in there."

"Let me guess," Minelli told her sourly. "Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Surprise, surprise!" said Minelli, discomfited.

"You think this was Red John, Sir?"

"I don't _know_ , Grace," he answered grouchily. "But I don't think he'd risk capture to waltz in here and steal a file that has no use to him. Why he took it, I don't know."

Grace looked at him after a moment before he angrily told her to look at the footage before he got any older. She turned back to her desk and looked through the bits of footage on the server for the cameras as she grumbled under her breath at his snippy attitude.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the city of Davis, Rigsby and Cho stepped into a lobby that offered a big eye on its tiled floor, waiting for someone to come greet them. Rigsby slurped on his Big Gulp, looking around at all the strange folks dressed in white shirts with the logo of the eye embroidered on the pocket of each.

"This place is scary," he commented, watching as a rosy-faced, redheaded girl approached them. Her smile faded when she saw them drinking in the lobby and deeper when she saw their badges on their hips.

"Sorry," she said, the smile going back up on her face easily. "There are no drinks, officers. You can put those in the recycle containers to your left and follow me," she instructed.

Rigsby and Cho sucked down their sodas and walked over to throw them where she indicated. Cho looked at Rigsby and he got a look in return.

"This place gives me the creeps," Cho said. "Let's just do what we have to do and get out of here."

"No complaints here," he replied, sneaking a look at the redheaded girl. "She's staring at us. I'm scared, Cho. It's like she's a robot."

They walked back over to her and smiled fake smiles. "Follow me, please," she told them.

She led them back through double doors and into a large office. She said nothing as she exited, closing the doors behind her. They moved up to the desk and saw a bald man, fifty-something, expensive suit. He stood and greeted them with a handshake. Firm and short.

"Hi! You must be the Agents. Please! Sit!" he told them, gesturing to the two chairs sitting in front of them. "My name is Jason Cooper. I am running things in our leader's absence," he added.

"Second in command?" Rigsby asked.

"Something like that," Cooper smiled. "What can I do for you boys? I assure you our church is clean and no trouble has been had here."

Cho took out the victim's photo from his jacket and leaned over to push it across to him. He watched as Cooper picked it up and looked at it. Cooper looked disturbed, he noted. He let him look over it another few seconds before he cleared his throat.

"Did you know this woman? Kari Rollins?" Cho asked, taking the photo back as Cooper handed it over. "We are investigating a homicide that occurred and we traced her to your...church."

Cooper sat back and put his fingers under his chin, locking them as he blinked at the Agents. He sighed heavily and nodded his head, closing his eyes briefly and reopening them.

"Kari was indeed a member here," Cooper confirmed. "She hasn't been for the past two years, though," he told them. "She left quite abruptly. She was trying to leave for the past ten years, but she never left completely. She always came back."

"Was there anything, in particular, she was trying to leave?" Rigsby asked. "Any relationship or church problems?"

"People leave here all the time, Agents. We don't keep tabs on why. Once they leave for good, though, they cannot come back," he said. "They have to realign themselves with our church again."

"So she had no problems that you knew of?" Cho asked. "Nothing that made her leave in a hurry?"

"We are not doing nefarious things here, Agents," Cooper said, laughing. "When they leave, they leave of their own accord. Often, like Kari did, they return."

"Do you know what kind of state of mind she was in when she left the church?"

Cooper leaned forward, placing his hands on his blotter. "I suspect she was very upset. Several people complained about her talking on the phone late at night in the months before she left. That is strictly against the rules here," he explained. "She promised she wouldn't do it again, but we got at least four other complaints."

"Is there any way we could get those records from those? Maybe the complaint forms or call logs?" Cho asked.

"Sure," Cooper smiled. "We are a cooperative and cohesive organization. We aim to aid, not abide."

"Clever. Can we see them?" Rigsby asked, his patience to get out of this strange place waning.

"Sure, follow me." He stood and smiled. "You'll find that they are alphabetical. Rollins is with the R's."

"Before I forget," Cho spoke up, "do you know or ever heard of a Teresa Lisbon?"

"No," Cooper said after a thoughtful moment. "Can't say I have."

Cooper led them down the hall from his office and into a room full of records and tapes against all four walls, a small table sitting between it all. He gestured his hand for them to have at it. Cho thanked him and Cooper left them, closing the door behind him.

"Ugh," Rigsby said, shuddering dramatically. "He's creepy, too."

"Come on," Cho said. "Let's get this over with." He walked over and read the ABC's, getting to the R's and pulling out the file drawer. He scanned over the files and pulled out the one labeled **ROLLINS, KARI** on the tab. "Found it."

He and Cho sat down at the table and opened the folder. Inside were four or five slips of paper and a few call logs. He gave Cho two of the slips of paper and he took the rest. He scanned his eyes over the papers and frowned. He didn't find anything useful within them. He looked over the call logs and found four calls to the same number, all within the same time frame that Cooper had said she tried to leave before. Three were over the span of two months about seven years ago. There was one call that was just before she left two years ago. Rigsby reached into his suit jacket for his notepad and pen, writing the number down for Van Pelt to trace for him when they got back to the office.

"Hey, Rigsby," Cho said, sliding a paper across to him. "Look at this."

Rigsby scanned the complaint form and looked up, a startled expression crossing his face. He looked back down to make sure he was reading it correctly and then back up to Cho.

"You think...?"

"I do."

"What's Lucy Jane doing calling our victim?" Cho asked. "And what is going on here?"

* * *

It was evening when she finally came out of her room. She had taken a bath and cleaned the dirt off her, dressed in black yoga pants and a red top, and cleaned her wound on her throat with the gauze Jane had given her from the medical kit. She saw him sitting at the island, silently eating something that looked like mush. She came up beside him quietly, watching him play around with the food in his bowl.

"I sure do miss your cooking," he told her. "I made something that resembles oatmeal. If you gulp it down quickly, you might just not notice the lumps," he told her.

She smiled a half smile and reached over to take the bowl from him, placing it in the sink. She grabbed his spoon from his hand as he watched her and dumped that in the sink as well.

"Oatmeal is not for dinner, Jane," she told him, reaching into the nearby freezer and pulling out an ice cream container.

"Neither is ice cream," he commented.

"You're right," she said, nodding as she retrieved two spoons from the dishwasher. "But I thought I could make it up to you. What I said earlier was harsh. I'm sorry," she apologized, handing him a spoon and setting the tub in between them.

"This is your apology?" he questioned, lifting an eyebrow at her. "I like it." He lifted a scoopful of ice cream to his mouth and ate it.

"So, do you accept it?" She dipped her spoon into it and took a small scoop.

He thought about it for half a second. "Yes. I guess I do."

She smiled faintly at him and watched as he licked his spoon clean, watching her closely over it. She sighed and sat the spoon down on the counter, bending down and hugging her elbows.

"I want to tell you about my family," she told him. "The truth, Jane."

He nodded his head and dipped his spoon back into the tub. "Okay, Teresa."

She frowned slightly and sighed. She had thought about telling him the truth earlier, but she actually couldn't muster up the courage to do it until now. She was thinking of why she shouldn't trust Jane with this information, but she couldn't think of a reason, anymore. He had trusted her with his own tragic past, and she owed him something.

Her growing attraction to him could be sent to bed for a while, she hoped. His attraction wasn't going to be ignored anytime soon. He was diving in head first. She watched the way his white T-shirt outlined his chest and biceps when he flexed to scoop ice cream with his spoon. She shook her head slightly and brought her eyes back up to his.

"Two years ago, my husband and son were murdered," she started off. "My husband Sam and my son Lucas were watching TV and had fallen asleep. When I came home, they were on the couch." She didn't elaborate. She knew she didn't have to. "I suppose you already figured that Red John murdered them. Victim numbers seventeen and eighteen."

Jane put down his spoon and reached a hand out to touch her forearm. "I didn't know Red John went after males," he told her. "But I am sorry, Teresa. I know exactly how you feel...felt."

"I know," she whispered hoarsely. "They were murdered because I wasn't around. You want to punish somebody, you go after their family. What means the most to them," she told him. "He broke his MO with my husband and son. And it was my fault, Patrick. All my fault."

"It's natural for us to feel guilty, Teresa," he told her. "I won't tell you not to feel that way because I'd be hypocritical. But I understand your feelings of guilt."

"You didn't know about them?" Lisbon asked. "I mean... his murders were all over the news..."

"No," he said. "I had taken some time off. Went to Venezuela for nearly two years. No communication. Just me and my sins, sweetheart. Sac PD made the files and folders on Red John's murders sealed about five years ago. Those bastards are very, very much to blame on why he isn't dead or rotting in prison."

"I remember coming home and finding them." She closed her eyes. "And it was all my fault." She reopened them with slow, deliberate movements.

She wouldn't explain how it was her fault for right now. Nor would she tell Jane she actually knew more than what she was saying about everything. Some things were better left untold. She had said she would tell him about her family, and she did. She requisitioned restraint. She didn't need anything else to jeopardize her safety.

Jane's hand on her forearm came up to her chin, cupping it softly. He smiled sadly at her in understanding. She closed her eyes without conscious thought, relishing the warmth of his hand on her skin.

"It's not wrong to want to be comforted," Jane told her, causing her to reopen her eyes. "What you said earlier...about not wanting to replace the people you loved who are gone? It doesn't mean you forget them, Teresa. Who wants to be lonely in an already solitary, painful world?"

She turned and gave him a small kiss on his palm, but didn't do anything else. For now, she would settle on telling him about her family. Later, she'd address the attraction if it was still there when the time came. By the look on Jane's face, his desire was clear in his bluish-green eyes. He wanted her. He wanted her so very badly.

"I...I know that," she said. "You obviously want to seduce me," she blurted out, unable to stop herself. "Dark eyes, twitching lips, the blood in your veins pumping quickly..."

"Over a meal of ice cream?" he laughed. "How did that thought enter your head?"

She smiled a little as he extracted his palm from her face. "Bite me."

"Is that an invitation?" He arched his eyebrows.

"It's not a yes," she told him. "Or a no. It's disorienting."

"Why?"

"Because frankly, you're confusing me. I am so good at reading people, but you close up. Like a book I can't finish," she told him. "I don't know how to act around you, most of the time. You yell at me one time, then kiss me the next."

"Understood." He picked his spoon back up and dipped into the soft ice cream. "So, do you regret kissing me back, then? Tangling your hands in my hair?" he teased.

She sighed and smiled, picking her own spoon back up. "No. I guess I don't." _The truth shall set you free_ , she thought.

She grabbed the lid of the ice cream container, placing it back on the tub and turning to place it back in the freezer. She felt his hands on the back of her hips. She stood up straight and spun herself around. She was face-to-face with Jane, who was staring at her with desire. Before she could dissent, he lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the counter beside the refrigerator, his body between her dangling legs.

Her mind went numb and her body pinged with energy at his touch and his closeness. She could feel the attraction she was trying to so hard to ignore ignite like gasoline and fire; trusting flames that licked and absorbed into her veins. She was beginning to lose all control of herself. It had been like the kiss earlier: unadulterated need and hunger. This time, she didn't know if she'd be able to stop him or herself though she knew she should. The truth was out for the most part, and Jane was right. Comfort is healthy. There was nothing wrong with needing someone and giving yourself to someone. She knew her husband would want her to do what made her happy. Jane, for all his faults and distrust, made her at least happy as she could be given the circumstances. He was infuriating, and he was sweet. The power in his touch and kisses knocked her off her feet and left her breathless; in a bubble struggling to breathe.

His previous kisses were passionate and needful. She understood that very well. Two people who are cooped up in a place with a shared connection were bound to get to this level. She didn't think any of it would be from her by any stretch of her imagination. But yet here she was perched on a counter with a cop sworn to protect her between her legs, looking at her as if she was his only source of oxygen and touching her like he was the only thing keeping him alive.

"Jane, what are you _doing_?"

"Trying to seduce you," he answered. "Just like you said I wanted to do." He smiled, leaning himself into her. "Is it working?"

Her brain wanted to push him away and tell him she needed time, but her body was humming and her heart was hammering. Though she thought about her husband and replacing him, she couldn't form the chain together to stop what was going on. She'd been fighting the urge for far too long.

She reached over and pulled his shirt in her fists, pulling him close to her mouth. He gasped at her sudden movement, his eyes locking on hers.

"Yes," she breathed. Her hands fell to his holster, her fingers trying to disengage it from his slim waist to get to his pants. "Yes, it is."

She shuddered involuntarily as his hip came to still her hands from his holster. Her breathing was embarrassingly loud as his thumbs ghosted back down her thighs, a gleam in his eyes as her hands came back up to knot in the front of his shirt. He smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth gently, letting his lips ghost there. She brought her hands up from his shirt to cup his face, tilting it so she could stare directly into the desire filled pools. He deliberately dragged his thumbs up her inner thighs, stroking the soft, warm skin through the material of her pants, heading up toward the slim V between her legs, his eyes tracing his path. He smiled at her trembling under his touch, dragging the merciful warmth of her with him. She broke. All sense of control or reason flew out of her mind.

"Patrick?"

"Yes?" he whispered, lifting his eyes to hers.

"Take me to the bedroom."

"Oh, no, Teresa," he told her, smiling widely. "Not yet."

"But you want to," she read. "Your pupils are dilated, which signals desire. Your pulse is racing, and you do this thing with your lips when you are in the mood. Your lips quiver. I saw it each time you kissed me. I told you this earlier. So do something about it."

"Nice cold read," he told her. "Stop that. I do want to, Teresa. _God, how I want to_. But you need to learn patience and to obey rules designed to keep you alive."

"What?" she asked, dazed and confused.

His fingers gripped her hips tightly as he kissed the tip of her nose. "Payback for stealing my key from my vest."

"Really?" she asked, exasperatingly.

"Really." He stepped back, laughing at her expression.

He let go of her hips and brought his lips to dance gently over hers as she let go of his head. "I am not a cruel man, Teresa."

"I beg to differ with that," she told him.

"It's nice to know that you are attracted to me, Teresa," he told her. "And that my seduction methods do work." He smiled wickedly. "My terms, Teresa. If you are willing, of course."

"You are a cold bastard, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

He kissed her lips once more, allowing her to kiss him back softly before he reached up and helped her down off the counter. She stood there for a moment with her hands on his chest, feeling the muscles over his shirt. She looked up at him and cleared her throat. She shook her head and stepped away from him.

"You're not the only one who can manipulate," he said, delighted with himself.

She chuckled softly and shook her head. "I'm still better at it. And I am not a child. This isn't show and tell."

"Well, there was another purpose to it," he said. "And if you act like a child, I will treat you as such. I mistakenly treated you as a responsible adult. You took that and abused it."

"Oh? Another aim?"

"It proves you are starting to trust me," he explained.

She couldn't deny it anymore. She had spilled information on her family, and she had begged him to take her to her room and make love to her. She'd say her trust _was_ opening up, and so was her heart... Begrudgingly. She could see him watching her from the corner of his eye as he sat back down. She opened the nearest cupboard and opened a can of soup, reaching for a bowl. She found her cheeks flushing with heat as she did so, remembering that just a few minutes ago, she was asking him to take her to bed. She had wanted it so much. And he had wanted to take her. She had read it on his face. But he was punishing her for taking off with his key. Well, punishing himself, too, but she suspected the kiss from earlier was enough to sate him for now.

She heated up the soup and sat it in front of Jane. "You're absolutely right. Ice cream is not dinner." She leaned on the counter and handed him a clean spoon.

"I wasn't complaining," he told her.

"And I wasn't suggesting," she said. "Eat."

* * *

He took the Teresa Lisbon's file from the locked drawer and shuffled the papers until he came to her old interviews from the night he had so egregiously slaughtered her family. It was good that Virgil Minelli had requested her old files to add her new interviews into. Update her status as being the only survivor of his craft... _for now_.

He pulled her old interview transcript out and lined them up. He grabbed the small petri dish of blood and dipped a gloved finger into it, highlighting several of her statements in the crude liquid, allowing the black print to seep through. He smiled when he finished, looking over them as he allowed them to dry.

 _ **Officer: Did anyone contact you before this? Anything that made you feel scared or nervous?**_

 _ **Lisbon: (hesitates) No. It was a normal day! Nobody called me or contacted me.**_

Lies! Fucking lies! He moved on to the next highlighted part, his lips up-swinging into a crude smile.

 _ **Officer: Do you know why Red John would murder your family, Teresa? Anything you can think of as to a reason? The MO has changed, here.**_

 _ **Lisbon: (crying) No. (silent a few seconds) I don't know why.**_

Another fucking lie. She knew exactly why. She was lying. He hated liars. He hated loose ends. They were tedious and tiring and just no fun. He looked at the last statement and tsk-tsked, his face frowning and resembling the very face he put on the wall of his last victim.

 _ **Officer: Did you know or were you connected to any of the other victims? (shows her a lineup of sixteen pictures)**_

 _ **Lisbon: No. I don't know any of them. (stares at a few pictures for a long time)**_

 _ **Officer: Are you sure?**_

 _ **Lisbon: Yes. (flips over all sixteen photos to the blank side and sobs)**_

She has been a very bad girl. Lying to investigators. Bad for her. Good for him. Until recently. She had to dig up things better left alone. And now she was being hunted like an animal. Slow. Methodical. Careful. Patrick Jane would never protect her. Not after he gets his little package.

He looked at the last paper in the row. It was a typed letter from an old, untraceable typewriter. It had been modified with red typeset. He reread it and smiled. Yes. Yes. This would be _perfect_. Poetic and very revealing.

He gathered the papers, folded them neatly with a gloved hand and stuffed them into the envelope. He pulled out his burner phone and dialed.

"I have a delivery," he said, simply. "Up in the hills."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 - Fruit From The Poisonous Tree (M RATED)**

* * *

It was very late in the evening when Van Pelt went to work tracking the numbers that Rigsby had copied from Kari Rollins' file. Cho and Rigsby had also made a copy of the complaint form at Visualize that held Lucy Jane's name on it. As Grace waited for results from her phone trace, Rigsby and Cho got to work trying to figure out what Jane's wife and their murder victim had in common. The common thread wasn't obvious, and neither could coax any information out of Jason Cooper, who had studiously ignored their requests to talk with the other members of the church to see if anything popped up on that front, or the person who signed the bottom of the complaint form as the in-taker.

"That place gave me the willies," Rigsby said, looking over Kari's complaint form. "And its connection to Jane's wife makes it even worse."

"What was a Visualize member contacting Lucy for?" Cho asked out loud though he meant it for himself.

"I don't know," Van Pelt said. "It seems strange that both were murdered by Red John. There has to be some sort of connection there. Lucy had to have spoken with Kari and Teresa. She had to have known them both somehow."

"The complaints were about Kari talking to someone on the phone. When the in-taker asked her who she was speaking with, Kari told them she was talking to Lucy Jane."

"What do we know about Lucy?" Cho asked.

"Nothing much. Sac sealed the files. Jane rarely spoke of her. He was private that way. He never really told us anything about her. But seeing as we have a connection hiding under our protection, Sac PD will need to unseal them for us."

"Think they will?"

"If they consent to it, yeah. It's part of an active investigation. If not, Minelli might be able to finagle a way..."

Cho sighed and looked at Rigsby. They knew they would have to tell Jane, but neither wanted to do it. They knew and had been on the brunt of Jane's moods when his wife was mentioned. He got defensive and often closed off and estranged from them for a while.

"Okay. Can we pull Lucy Jane's file?" Rigsby asked. "I know Jane won't like that," he added off Cho's look, "but we have to do it. We have to find the connection."

"We have no choice," Cho told him. "Jane would want us to do our jobs, too. But someone is going to have to go explain to him about Lucy and Visualize."

"Not it!" Rigsby and Van Pelt said in unison, each smiling at the other.

"Chickens," Cho said.

Cho got on the line and requested that Lucy Jane's file be transferred from Sac PD to the CBI. The Agent on the other end put him on hold for a few minutes, then returned to inform Cho that it would be a few hours before they could have it sent over. After hanging up, he stood and grabbed his jacket from behind his chair.

"If the file comes before I get back, take a look and see what you can see. Anything that might give us an idea as to how Lucy Jane knew Kari Rollins. Grace," he said, turning to her as she typed away on her computer. "If you can trace those calls. Let me know."

"Will do," Van Pelt said. "And Cho?"

"Yeah?"

"Go easy on him, okay? This is his wife we are investigating."

"Yeah," Cho told her. "I'll try. You know how he is."

Before Cho could leave, however, Minelli came out of his office and looked at them, his face a mix of unpleasant surprise and exasperation. He brought a hand to his aching neck and swore as the muscles clenched tightly, causing a knot to form. He sighed and sat on the edge of Van Pelt's desk.

"Sac PD just called me," he told them. "They said you want Lucy Jane's file." He let that hang in the air for a few seconds. "Care to elaborate on why? Did you find something at Visualize?"

Rigsby and Cho looked at each other. Finally, Rigsby sighed and nodded his head. "Seems the victim of the last murder, Kari Rollins, contacted Lucy a number of times. It's documented on a complaint form." Rigsby held up the folder.

"Uh, we also have her calls traced to a cell phone," Van Pelt said, looking up from her computer. "Looks like a burner phone. But it could be the number Kari called to reach Lucy."

"And you can't trace it further?" Minelli asked.

"Not burner phones, Sir," she told him. "But it would make sense."

"We need solid proof, Agent," he told her. "Where are you going?" he said, noting Cho inching toward the exit.

"To tell Jane we have a possible connection between his wife and the latest murder victim, and that Teresa Lisbon may be the other part of the connection."

"Don't wind him up, Kimball," Minelli said. "The last thing we need is for him to withdraw while watching over her. You know how he gets. And be careful. There is a detour about twenty miles out. It'll take you another forty-five minutes to get there."

He nodded at his boss and made his exit. Minelli looked at Rigsby and Van Pelt and motioned for them to do whatever they were doing before he interrupted them. He turned around, cursed loudly, and made his way back to his office.

With Lucy Jane's file being unsealed, they could perhaps find the direct correlation between the two murdered women, and see how Lisbon actually fit into all this. Minelli's concern was for Jane's reaction to it. What would he say about it? As far as Jane and everyone else was concerned, it had been a random act of violence on the night in question.

It was only half an hour later that the file came (Rigsby thought it was Minelli who rushed it). The folder was flopped down on Rigsby's desk as he typed out a deposition he had. He was surprised at the speedy nature of the delivery. He pulled the file over and placed it on his keyboard, opening it and scanning the first few pages.

"Anything interesting?" Van Pelt asked, getting up from her desk and walking over to read over his shoulder.

"She looks normal," he told her. "I don't see anything in here to indicate a connection with Rollins. Lucy wasn't a member of Visualize was she?"

Van Pelt shook her head. "I don't think so. Visualize would have had a record of it, and I think Jane would have known, too. He wouldn't have held that back, Wayne."

He flipped back to the first page which held her vital statistics. Age, birthday, weight, hair color, eye color, height, profession and that type of thing. Van Pelt scanned the page and pointed to the profession part of Lucy Jane's file.

"What about that?" she asked.

"You think that might be the connection?" Wayne asked, following her pointing finger. "How do we know which one?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But we could look into it. What other lead is there? You could look at the crime scene photos and reports, and maybe the evidence they bagged, but I really don't think you'll get much out of that. Red John is too clean. And the biggest one is usually the right one, Wayne."

"I'll check it out. Anything at this point. It's like freaking Scooby Doo," he said, garnering a laugh from Van Pelt.

"I'll do it," she told him. "They might need a woman's touch. They are very strict about confidentiality rules." Van Pelt made her way to her desk and picked up the phone and dialing the number. "Yes, Sacramento News Herald? I am Agent Grace Van Pelt with the California Bureau of Investigation, and I am calling with regard to an investigative reporter who worked for your paper by the name of Lucy Jane."

* * *

He opened her door and entered very quietly. He shut the door with a soft snap and casually made his way over toward her bed, where he could see her lying on her side. He smiled to himself as he walked toward it, but the smile became a frown of pain when he tripped over her open suitcase.

"Shit!" he said, crying out in pain. "Jesus Christ!" he yelled softly, bending down to rub his bare shin.

"Patrick?" she called out sleepily, turning herself toward his voice. "What are you doing in here?"

"Trying to surprise you, but apparently, your suitcase had other ideas," he whispered, kicking her suitcase lid closed and walking up to the bedside. "Do you mind?"

"I thought you were punishing me like a five-year-old," she said though she reached back and pulled the sheet and cover back for him to slide in.

She heard him place something heavy on the nightstand and then crawl in beside her, lifting the sheet and cover over himself. When she didn't turn to face him, he reached out for her shoulder and turned her onto her back. She looked up and could see his blond curls falling into his face and his bluish-green eyes scan her green ones.

"I thought you learned your lesson," he whispered. "Unless you changed your mind?"

"What if I did?" she asked, trying to concentrate as she felt his fingers caress her arm. "What then?"

"Well, then," he smiled down at her. "This would be a very awkward situation, wouldn't it?"

"Potentially."

"Potentially," he agreed, lowering his head down so his lips could touch hers. "Potentially not."

He kissed her again, gathering her against him, tilting her chin up as his hand slid up and into her chestnut hair, tangling his fingers between her strands, letting them flow through like sand.

"I am sorry, you know," she told him. "For running off. It wasn't the best idea."

"Oh," he said, kissing the side of her mouth. "So you agree with me?"

"No," she whispered, kissing him back and bringing her hands to his T-shirt clad chest. "It wasn't a good idea because I didn't account for the stone fence. Too high."

He laughed against her mouth. "Always rebellious."

She chuckled and kissed him back, her mouth finding his whiskers scratchy but his lips soft. He brushed the strands of hair back from her face and lifted his lips from hers and kissed her forehead.

"I will save you, Lisbon," he told her. "I need you to know that. You are safe here. I won't let anything happen to you. Okay?"

"You said that," she told him. "And I believe you."

"Trusting me, huh?" He smiled. "I _knew_ it."

"Shut up!" she said playfully, bringing her arm around to snake around his waist, her hand on his back. "Don't patronize me."

"Sorry," he said softly. "Let me make it up to you."

He leaned himself half across her body, his legs nudging hers apart under the covers. He brought the hand that was tilting her chin down, dragging his fingers across her throat column, down her collarbone, stopping to encircle her breast with his fingers, taking care to flick her erect nipple with his thumb, and ghosting a path down her ribcage. He traced her small, concave belly and navel before he found where the hem of her nightshirt had ridden up at her upper thighs.

He could feel her breathing increase as his palm found the cotton of her panties. He watched her face as she bit her lip and he felt her hands come up behind his neck and push him to her, kissing him deeply as his fingers rubbed her wet slit, causing her to hum against his lips and arch herself into his probing fingers.

"Patrick," she called out softly, breaking the kiss as his fingers pushed down on the sensitive nub above her cleft.

"Shh," he told her, deliberately circling her clit with his thumb. "It's okay."

She gasped and lifted her head, allowing him to trace kisses down her throat and back up along her jawline. He pressed against her swollen bud once more, causing her to cry out before he retracted his hand, sliding it back up, pushing her nightshirt up past her navel with his wrist before inserting his hand between her skin and the cotton of her black floral panties.

"Is everything okay?" he asked her. "You still want to do this?"

She looked at him and nodded her head. "Am I complaining?" she answered almost breathlessly.

He chuckled and lowered his hand until he felt her damp curls underneath his fingers. He felt her shudder under his touch as his fingers teased her with the slightest of rubs. He leaned down to kiss her as he slipped one finger inside her, making her moan softly as he wiggled it inside of her. She arched against him, reaching a hand down to come over the top of his, her panties the only barrier from contact.

"Patrick," she whispered, gasping again as he added another finger into her heat.

"Yes, Teresa?" he asked softly, stroking her in lazy circles, his thumb going counter-clockwise on her clit. He turned her head with his free hand and kissed her lips.

"Uh!" she cried out, feeling the familiar pull in her belly. She tried to stifle her cry but decided they were alone in the middle of nowhere and stopped trying.

It was a warmth and a tug before she released, her fingers flexing his hand in her panties. She shuddered and cried out, her moan stifled only by Jane reaching to kiss her deep, his tongue wanting entrance and Lisbon granting it. His fingers continued to pleasure her until she came again, calling out his name loudly against his lips. Feeling her on his fingers and the moan against his wandering lips, he could feel himself harden.

"I want to make love to you," he told her, extracting his hand from her panties and pushing it up under her nightshirt. "I want to feel you around me," he told her, pressing his hand up over her ribcage and to her breasts. He bent to kiss her belly before he brought himself on top of her completely, feeling her hands snake down his spine and rest on his ass, which was covered by his boxers. "I need to feel you, Teresa."

His breathing was erratic; it was needful and unrelenting desire. He needed her. Wanted her. He was sure she could feel it on her thigh. He rubbed his palm over her breast, squeezing it gently in his hand. She nodded her head at him and brought her hands up to the hem of his boxer shorts, playfully tugging them. His other hand came to slide over the skin of her naked hip.

"Don't _tell_ me, Jane," she whispered. " _Show_ me."

He let her pull his boxers down enough so he could pull them off and discard them, and then his hands worked at her hips to remove her panties, leaning to the side so she could toe them off and throw them aside with the boxers already piled on the floor. Next, she abandoned her nightshirt, flinging it God only knew where. She could feel his need on her thigh, hard and long. Her hands trailed on his ass, bringing him even harder against her as he ground himself gently into her.

He lifted his moist lips to her hard nipple, taking her in with a gentle, teasing suck. He felt her hands tighten on him and he smiled as he kissed the underside of her breast, his tongue coming back up. flicking the sensitive bud. He felt her wiggle beneath him, a small groan falling from her lips. His hands found the curve of her butt, his fingers dancing gently across her skin. He tapped her there, letting her know he wanted her to lift her legs for him.

"Lift, please," he told her, bringing his mouth back up to her lips and giving her a soft, sensual kiss.

"You should let me help you," she told him, referring to his hardened shaft.

"As a cop, we protect and serve," he told her. "I am protecting you, Teresa, so let me serve you, too."

She lifted her legs in response and locked them around his hips, pulling him flush against her. He smiled and kissed her lips once more, relishing the kiss back. He looked into her eyes for some signal it was okay. Finding a dark ring of desire and her own pupils dilated, he reached down between their interlocked bodies and grabbed the base of his hard cock, shifting to press the tip of him at her wet slit. He teasingly moved horizontal, eliciting a deep moan from her, and a pinch of one of his ass cheeks. Then he slid into her in one fluid movement.

He buried his face in her neck as he drove deep into her, a gasp leaving her mouth and loudly reverberating around him. He felt her legs lock tighter over his hips as he pulled out of her and drove back in hard and deep. He felt her nails digging into his ass and back, trying to gain leverage as he pushed in and out of her like waves in the tide. Riding her as if he'd be thrown off at any minute and had to savor.

"Teresa," he called out against her neck, feeling her walls quiver around him. "Sweetheart."

He could feel her release coming as her walls contracted around him. Finally, she cried out loudly from underneath him and shuddered in her orgasm. She reached her hands up to take hold of his golden curls, pulling on them as her body convulsed under him. He held out for a few more deep, hard thrusts into her before he, too, came warm and fast into her. He called out "Sweetheart" against her neck again and didn't move as he waited for his own body to come down from his high.

It was as both of them lie there with bated breaths that Jane heard something from outside the room. It sounded like a door sliding open or closed. Quickly, in full cop mode, he pulled out of Lisbon and rolled off the bed, gathering his boxers, putting them on in the dark bedroom as he rounded the bed and grabbed his gun off the nightstand.

"Jane, what-!"

"Shh," he told her, aiding the covers over her naked body. "There's a noise outside," he told her in a whisper. "Stay here and don't move! Promise me, Teresa!"

"Yeah," she said dazedly. "Okay."

He kissed her cheek softly before he got up and quietly made his way over to the door. He turned back to Lisbon and held a finger to his lips, motioning for her to be quiet.

"Jane, what's going on?" she whispered very low.

"I think someone is inside the house." He cocked his weapon.

* * *

He could hear them having sex as he entered through the side patio door. He carried the box very carefully and sat it on the kitchen island, close to the door. He made sure the card was arranged neatly so that he could see it. Inside was the real prize, though. But he quite thought the two of them getting to this stage was a prize, too. One more thing to destroy.

He heard a car approach from the glass front doors. He turned and slipped out, closing the patio door behind him. He smiled at the thought of them having sex. Not the actual act, but the aftermath. That would be something to see. He'd make sure he would see it, too.

He took one last look at the box on the counter and smiled before running back around the large house, where he waited for Agent Kimball Cho to be let inside. Then he would make his getaway. His help did his job. He was in and out of there in little time. The next time he would meet up with Teresa Lisbon, she'd be alone and all his. Every square inch of her would be his. Patrick Jane may have gotten the forbidden fruit, but he'd be the snake to poison it so she could never offer it again...and Jane would never want it.

* * *

Rigsby and Van Pelt stood inside the vast offices of Sacramento News Herald. They were waiting for the chief editor to come down so that they could speak with her about Lucy Jane, and see if there was any connection to Visualize, or if anything she could tell them might be helpful to this perplexing case. It was very, very late, but she had graciously told Van Pelt that she was in for the overnight news hour, and would be happy to assist in any way she could.

"You really think we are going to get anything from them?" Rigsby asked. "They tend to keep their work close to them, those reporters. Used to date one. It was awful."

Van Pelt laughed. "We'll see, won't we? Oh, I think this is her!" she said, hitting Rigsby on the chest and nodding toward a blonde woman walking toward them.

"I'm sorry for my tardiness," the plump, blonde-haired woman said, reaching out to shake each of their hands. "I'm Annette Norlice, editor-in-chief here."

"Hi! We're looking for information about Lucy Jane. We understand she was a reporter here. It's regarding an active case of ours," Rigsby said, noting the woman's strict posture.

"Of course! Whatever I can do to help. If you'll follow me to my office," she told them, turning and leading them back through a small, narrow hallway and into the room at the end, whose door bared her name. "Please. Sit." She waved at two large, comfortable chairs facing her desk.

Rigsby and Van Pelt sat down and waited for Annette to sit down before going ahead with their questions. Once she was settled, Van Pelt leaned forward and cleared her throat.

"We wanted to ask you if you knew anything about a woman named Kari Rollins? Maybe you saw her around or..." Van Pelt slid a picture of Kari Rollins across the desk.

They watched as Annette picked up the photo and scanned it. Van Pelt's heart picked up when the blonde nodded her head. She passed the picture back to Van Pelt and smiled.

"Yes," she told them. "I've seen her in here a few times. That was...oh, I would say two or three years ago."

"Do you know what she was doing here? If she was visiting Lucy?" Rigsby asked.

"Oh, yes," Annette said, laughing. "She was here to see Lucy. Lucy was one of those kinds of people that nervous people came to see."

"What do you mean?"

"Lucy was an investigative reporter, Agents," she told them. "She wrote exposés and exposed the worst of people. This young lady came to see her about a story she was doing."

"A story?"

"She came to me about three months before she was killed and pitched an idea to me," Annette explained. "I told her if she could find me proof, I'd allow her to print her Exposé. My guess was this Kari was part of that."

"What was the story she was pitching?" Van Pelt asked.

"She told me that she had a source that could tell her who Red John was and provide proof," Annette told them, leaning forward and frowning. "I, of course, didn't believe it. It seemed too far-fetched. We don't waste time on empty stories, Agents. I thought Kari might be the source."

Rigsby and Van Pelt looked at each other and then at Annette. "Did she say anything else that you can recall?"

"She didn't say, Agents," Annette said. "I told her to drop the story. I was under the assumption she had."

"Do you know anything about Teresa Lisbon? Did Lucy ever mention her?" Van Pelt asked.

Annette thought about that for a moment. "The psychic lady from TV?"

"Yes."

"If Lucy was talking to her, it was off the record," Annette told her. "I haven't heard of her in any of Lucy's meetings with me. But, if you want, you can access some of Lucy's things she left behind. They're in storage. Been that way since she died."

"That would be great, thank you, Annette," Van Pelt said.

"No problem," Annette said, rising and walking around her desk. "Follow me."

Rigsby and Van Pelt followed Annette out of the office and down the hall to a room full of files and folders. She led them over to a large box and pointed to it.

"This is her stuff," Annette said. "I hope you can find something of use in there."

Grace thanked her and watched her leave the room. As soon as she was gone, she looked at Rigsby and shook her head. "Oh, no."

"Oh, no, is right," Rigsby said. "She signed her own death warrant with that Exposé."

* * *

Jane opened Lisbon's bedroom door and looked out, pointing his service weapon as he turned to his right and aimed, his eyes sweeping back and forth. He could see nothing in the darkness. He slowly made this way through the living room and into the kitchen. Seeing nothing, he lowered his weapon.

"What the hell is this?" he asked out loud, noticing the small, rectangle box.

He reached out and lifted it, looking at the tag. It was addressed to him. He felt uneasy as he reached for it. Just as his hands found the red strings of the box, he heard a knock on the front door. Lifting his weapon again, he made his way over to the door.

"Who is it?" he called out.

"Cho."

Jane sighed, lowered his weapon and saw Lisbon exit her room wearing her nightshirt again. He put a hand up to halt her. "One second. Let me get the key."

Jane went to the living room, picked up his vest lying across the arm of the couch and dug out the key. He walked back over and unlocked the door. Cho entered and took in Jane in his boxers and Lisbon in her nightshirt.

"Uh..." Jane started to explain.

"I don't care to know," Cho said. "You want to have sex, far be it from me to ruin your party."

"What—what are you doing here, Cho? It's almost eleven!"

"I came to tell you something," he said. "It's about Lucy."

Jane looked at Cho and Lisbon could see his face change. He locked himself down.

"No."

"Jane, it's important."

"No!" he asserted.

"Lucy has a connection with the murder victim where you found the photos, Jane," Cho told him.

Lisbon backed herself up and watched Jane as he just stood there. "Patrick..." she whispered.

"We think there is a connection with Lisbon, too," Cho said. "We just don't know how. We think Lucy may have known her."

Jane turned to look at Lisbon, and she could see the change in his face. She knew he was seeing that part of her mask crumble. The knowing that something Lisbon was hiding from him, that he suspected from the start, was connected to his wife. The look of a man who was betrayed in the worst way possible.

"You knew my wife all along?"

"Yes," she whispered, not able to lie to him any longer. "I'm sorry!"

"All this time? And you never said anything? You never uttered a word?"

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. But I am."

He was taking a shot at their lovemaking, and she knew it.

"Patrick, please," she begged. "Let me explain."

"I don't want you to explain. Everything you tell me is a lie! I shouldn't have trusted you."

"What is going on here, Jane?" Cho asked, confused.

"Not a damn thing," he told him. "Not anymore."

"Do you think that we can talk, Jane?" Cho asked. "Listen, I know you don't want to do it, but it is very important. It could crack the case wide open."

He looked at Lisbon and then at Cho. He sighed, ran a hand through his tousled hair and nodded. "Yes, I guess so."

"What's that?" Cho asked, nodding toward the box on the counter. "Looks odd."

"I don't know," Jane said truthfully. "Did you do this?" He turned to Lisbon and pointed to the box.

"No, of course not, Patrick."

"My name is Agent Jane," he told her indifferently.

Jane walked over to it and untied the red string. opening the flaps and lifting out an envelope from inside. He opened the envelope, scanned the papers and looked back up at Lisbon. He shook his head at her and looked down into the box and pulled out the other content.

"I think we've found the connection to all three women," Jane said, lifting it into the air. "Here it is."

"What? Lisbon asked.

"How you killed my wife," he said, shoving it at her. "How you are responsible for my wife's death!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 - And So It Is**

* * *

Rigsby picked up the box from its dusty corner and balanced it on a nearby top of a filing cabinet. He looked at Van Pelt and sighed. Whatever Lucy Jane had gotten into wasn't good. And the mystery was deepening. So far, they had their latest Red John victim, Kari Rollins, being a part of Visualize and having conversations with Lucy here at the newspaper. The confirmation from Annette that Lucy had indeed been kicking around the idea of doing the story on Red John was likely the reason both women died. That was the connection from Lucy to Kari in a string-theory point of view, but it still begged a lot of questions to be answered.

"Do you think they were killed to silence them?" Rigsby asked, pushing items aside in the box strategically. "It's just... why did Red John wait so long to off Kari and try to off Lisbon?"

Van Pelt peered into the box and took out a three-ring binder from the bottom of the pile and shrugged. "The logical reasons would be that Kari was going to come out with whatever information she knew, despite Lucy's death. As far as Teresa is concerned, who knows."

She pawed through the binder and didn't find anything useful. It was filled with Lucy's outlines for her reports and was essentially, for all intents and purposes, her notes and information on the things she would be submitting for print. But on further examination, she found that some of the pages were taken from the binder. She pushed the binder to her partner and pointed at the corner of three sheets of paper near the end of the binder.

"Look, Wayne," she told him. "There are several pages missing from this binder. Strange, no?"

Rigsby took the binder from her and looked over it. "Hmm. This is hinky."

"Hinky?"

"Yeah. When I read Lucy's file, the date of her death falls within the missing pages. Someone must have deliberately taken them out of here. Why?" His face screwed up in concentration.

"Didn't Annette say that Lisbon was the 'psychic lady from TV'?" Grace asked. "Maybe that is the connection."

"Maybe..." Rigsby relinquished.

"This is getting stranger and stranger," Van Pelt said. "Two murders, years apart, connected by some kind of investigation Lucy was doing for the newspaper, and then we still have Lisbon's role in all of this. I wonder how Cho is making out with Jane."

"I think we got away easier, Grace," Rigsby told her without humor in his voice. "There is nothing else of use in this box. Let's go ask Annette if we can take this with us."

They put the box back where they got it and left the storage area. They made their way back to Annette's office. She stood and greeted them again, waving them into her office.

"I hope you found something of use, Agents," she said. "I see you have," she added as her eyes found the binder that Rigsby held in his hand.

"We wanted to take this with us," he told her. "If that is all right with you."

"Yeah," she nodded instantaneously. "You can take it. Whatever helps." She was silent for a few seconds. "You asked me earlier if I knew or heard of a Teresa Lisbon."

"Yes," Grace answered. "Why? Have you thought of something?"

Annette nodded. "As a matter of fact, I have. I remember one of the last times I saw Lucy, she was telling me that she was speaking to someone who seemed to be very interested in hearing about this Red John story of hers."

"You think it might have been Teresa Lisbon she meant?"

Annette sat down at her desk and slumped back in her seat. "Lucy told me that her source was someone who would make people pay attention. Be interested in her story. I thought she meant Kari. Now that you mention a connection, it jogged this particular memory for me that makes me rethink my notion."

"You think maybe Lucy called on Teresa Lisbon for her skills on TV?" Rigsby inquired.

"I think this woman may have implemented herself into the case. Publicity with that kind of story would have been major for someone who pretends to be psychic, no?" Annette said, tilting her head. "I, myself, don't believe in that phooey, but there are plenty of others who do."

"You think it might have been a publicity ploy on Lisbon's part?" Grace asked horror in her voice.

"In short, yes. Lucy was very eager; very impressionable. But there had to be something to it if she came to me and asked. She would never just dig into it without facts."

"You think Kari came to see her with proof?"

"Possibly. She never came to me with anything if she found any. What I am saying, Agents is Lucy was talking to Kari, but I suspect that this Lisbon woman inserted herself into the situation somehow."

"You don't have any idea the connection between Visualize, either?" Rigsby asked. "The church or whatever they call themselves."

Annette laughed. "While we have done several stories and exposes on that particular divinity, it wasn't anything to do with your case. I am sorry."

"Thanks for the information, Annette," Van Pelt told her. "We appreciate your cooperation and the information you could provide."

Annette stood and placed her hands palm-side down on her desk. "I hope you find the monster who killed Lucy."

"Thanks," Rigsby answered. He fished a card out from his inner pocket and slid it across the desk. "If you can think of anything else, please call me."

"Thank you, Agents."

They left themselves out. Rigsby looked at Grace and shook his head. He knew she was thinking the same thing. Teresa Lisbon was not an innocent victim that just happened to survive Red John. She had brought Red John to her. To Lucy. And to Kari. For that, they were certain. How? That was the million dollar question going forward.

* * *

The three of them sat down, Jane making a point to sit on the other side of the kitchen island, next to Cho. Both men looked up expectantly at her, waiting for her to explain herself. Most of the contents of the box were spilled out between them, almost in a taunting fashion, daring her to explain what they were all about.

Her eyes instantaneously found Jane's staring hard at her. The look in his eyes from earlier, as he made love to her was gone; it was replaced by anguish and betrayal. She sighed and put a hand haphazardly through her hair and off her shoulders. She saw Jane's eyes quickly take in her bare shoulder as her nightshirt fell off it, and it was quickly raised back up to her green eyes one again.

"You are going to have to explain yourself to me," Cho told her. "This is a murder investigation, Ms. Lisbon. If you know something about all this, now is your chance to speak up."

"You knew my wife the entire time," Jane told her in a harsh tone, "You—we would have never done what we did if I had known. You lied to me. Mislead me."

"I didn't mislead you, Patrick," she told him, studiously ignoring Cho's look. "I didn't put it together until that day we found the photographs in that house."

"So you only lied to me some of the time," he shot back.

"I wanted to tell you, Jane," she told him. "I did," she added off his scoff. "But I didn't want to hurt you, either."

"So, you lured my wife into this bullshit of yours and then after you get her killed you want to play comforter to her widower?" he spat, his eyes dark and hollow. "Well, isn't that thoughtful of you, sweetheart."

"I didn't _want_ to comfort you," she replied back. "You came to _my_ bed. I didn't go to yours!"

Cho opened his mouth but closed it and pretended to read the papers between them. He took the contents from the box that was loose inside and looked at them. He shook his head and raised his head at Lisbon. She could feel his judgment clearer than the raindrops that were starting to fall outside.

"I didn't know you were the cause of my wife being murdered!" he told her, leaning forward and tilting his head at her. "Sleeping with you was the biggest mistake of my life. No, the second. But don't look for me to make the same mistake twice, sweetheart!" He pulled the contents Cho was holding out of his hand and lifted them between them and pointed to them with his other hand. "Exhibit A!"

He slammed down the five polaroid photographs that someone had taken from afar of Lucy and Lisbon meeting at the Newspaper. On each of the bottoms of the photographs, in red typewriter ink, was five words: SHE MADE THE GAME FUN. There was no doubt where the box and its contents—including the photographs—had come from. Each picture depicted Lucy and Lisbon on different days meeting. The color photographs proof that Lucy and Lisbon had indeed known each other. They were circled with a red dripping smiley face. But that wasn't the only thing in the box. Besides the three pages of transcripts and the photographs, there was a page in black ink. It was Lucy's handwriting, and it outlined the expose she planned to print. Lisbon's name was highlighted in the same red liquid that her transcripts were.

"You were conning my wife into doing the expose, weren't you? Career maker?" Jane accused. "This would be your ticket to stardom, wouldn't it? And that's what you promised Lucy, too, right? That if she consulted you and wrote the expose, she'd skyrocket to the top of the list?" He was disgusted. "How did you get her to believe your bullshit, huh?"

"Jane, calm down," Cho said, breaking in. He looked at Lisbon. "You really need to start speaking up. Don't make me take you back to the CBI. I will do that."

"She's going back either way," Jane told him. "But the least you could do is tell me how you got my wife killed. Give me that much respect." Jane took the polaroids and put them face down, unable to look at them anymore. "I'm listening."

Lisbon sighed and shook her head, placing her head in her hands. "It wasn't my intention to bring harm to her. I did tell you before that my husband said I needed to stop. He was right. But I didn't. My ego was too big. But my show was suffering. People weren't as interested anymore."

Jane scoffed. "I wonder why."

"Jane..." Cho warned. "Go on, Ms. Lisbon."

She cleared her throat and raised her head, looking at Jane. Though his face still showed the anger he was feeling inside, she thought she saw a glimmer of the man who touched her so gently just a few hours before. As soon as he saw her trying to read him, however, he closed himself off and glared at her. She shrugged and raised a hand.

"I'm sorry, Jane," she told him. "I really am. But you have to know that some of what you think about me is wrong! It—it is complicated."

"What do you mean by complicated? You just said-"

"I didn't go to Lucy," she told him, crossing her arms on the island counter. "She came to me. Long before any of this Red John stuff happened."

"What are you talking about?" he said with a growl. "Are you insinuating my wife was asking you to do your hooey or whatever the hell you call that crap?"

"She came to me for the first time a few years before she was murdered," Lisbon started. "She told me she was having problems with her husband. I didn't ask her to elaborate. That's how the trick works. You reel them in with a good cold opening. Make them think you already know what they are there for."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. She could remember that reading very well. She opened her eyes and looked at Jane, her eyes pleading with him to understand.

"You expect me to believe you?" he asked, suspecting she was stalling.

"No. Which is why I will tell you what I cold read from her. She said her husband was cold and distant lately. She told me that when she tried talking to him, he closed off. Became invalid. I told her to tell me nothing else. I did my cold reading of her. I started with something obvious first. The way she fidgeted with her cross necklace, I guessed it was passed down from someone important. A sister or mother," Lisbon explained. "I told her that, and she was very interested in me after that. As I was talking about her mother being the one who gave it to her before she died, which I guessed at based on the logical choices, I noticed that she went from the cross to her wedding band. She made it move to and fro, to and fro." Lisbon looked at Jane's ring finger, she noticed that his ring was gone. Something she hadn't noticed before. "It meant she was upset and worried."

Jane kept his eyes on her, unable to speak. Could it be true that his wife came to seek out some kind of reading because he was closed off? And Lucy was right if she had. He _had_ been cold and distant from her. But his reasons were pure. Though he would have loved to have spoken to Lucy about what was going on in his mind, he couldn't. Even more so on the days leading up to her death. Suddenly, it dawned on him just why Lucy had come to see Lisbon.

"She thought I was having an affair," he told Lisbon, his voice dropping. "That's why she came to see you. She associated me being distant with her as cheating on her. She wanted you to give her a reading or whatever it is you do."

"Yes." She nodded. "She told me she caught my show sometimes. I did what she asked."

"You mean what she _paid_ you to do," Jane spat back.

"No. I didn't take payment from her. I took something much worse," Lisbon admitted. "I took her trust."

"You conned her into paying you with an exclusive, didn't you?" Cho cut in. "You promised Lucy Jane stardom and happiness with her husband, but only if she printed an expose on Red John. The hottest thing in the papers at the time."

Lisbon nodded her head in shame. "I am not saying what I did was right. I know it wasn't. But that doesn't mean I didn't have my own sources with information. Lucy hadn't stopped to see me in a while, and I told her I'd call her for a favor instead of paying me cash. But I asked a friend I was doing readings for to contact her. You know? Play up on Lucy's abilities."

"Kari Rollins?" Cho asked.

Lisbon looked stunned that he knew. "Yes. Kari Rollins. She would get a reading every week about if she was doing the right thing with Visualize and if her deceased brother would be proud of her for wanting inner peace, as she called it. One day, she starts talking to me about some strange incidents, and she asked me if I knew about the Red John case. I told her of course I did, and she told me she thought she knew who it was."

"You played along," Jane said matter-of-factually.

"I played along. I told Kari I knew who he was. I even cold read him for her. I said he's an ugly, tormented little man, a lonely soul, sad, very sad. I told her he'd hurt more people if we didn't do something."

"She ate that up, didn't she?"

Lisbon smiled now. "Like pie."

"Enough for you to talk her into calling my wife. You're a con woman, after all."

"Why not call her yourself? Why make someone else do it?" Cho asked.

"Because she wanted it to look like Kari was referring her," Jane told Cho. "Pretty smart, I have to say. It would have been suspicious if you just called Lucy out of the blue and said you had a reading about Red John. Lucy wasn't dumb. So you made Kari ask Lucy about approaching you."

"She never told you who she thought he was?" Cho asked, intrigued and disturbed all at once. "No clues?"

"She was scared. She never told me who. How does Kari fit into this?" Lisbon finally decided to ask the question bouncing in her head since he'd mentioned her.

"The victim's house you and Jane went to? That was Kari Rollins' home. Red John got to her," he told her. "I have a lot more questions, but it's late. I will be back tomorrow to get your statements. Your truthful statements." He got up and put all of the contents back in the box and closed it. "I will take this with me. See if we can get anything off it."

"Wait! You're not taking her!?" Jane said, sitting up suddenly. "I don't want her here! I don't want to see her! I don't want to be locked up here with a liar!"

"I am guessing you slept with her, Jane," Cho stated bluntly. "That's not how you treat a woman you had sex with. Besides, you know Minelli needs to sign off on it. Plus, when he finds out you, uh, played with the lead, he's going to be pissed. You wanna deal with that?" Jane sighed deeply. "Didn't think so. Good luck and goodbye." He turned to Lisbon. "I may not smile a lot, but I do have etiquette."

None of them moved as Cho moved to the front door. Finally, Jane came to lock the door and turned to go to his room. He got to his door when he felt her hand on his shoulder. He spun around and glared at her though his eyes were no longer as angry set as they were earlier.

"What?" he asked her, his voice low and gravelly.

"Yell at me. Curse at me. Please, Jane. Do something. Don't let it go to silence," she begged. " I can read you, Patrick. I know you aren't just angry at me. You are angry at yourself, too. I know what I did was wrong. I am sorry, Jane. I am so sorry. I never meant it to go like this. I know it's-"

She was interrupted by him spinning her into the wall beside them, his hands on either side of her head, his face inches from her own. He looked from her eyes to her lips, tracing the slope of her nose and going back to her eyes. He narrowed them at her and pushed a knee between her legs pinning her to the wall.

"What you did is unforgivable," he told her. "But as long as we are being honest with each other, you aren't the only one with unforgivable things they've done," he said, bringing his lips to her ear. "Sleeping with you was something I will _never_ forgive myself for. It was good, but it always is when it is just a simple itch to scratch."

He let go of the wall and removed his knee from between her legs. He backed up and didn't wait for her reply. He opened his bedroom door, stepped inside and slammed the door behind him. Lisbon slumped down the wall and cried silently. She knew there was something he was hiding, but his anger toward her was filling him right now. Though she had not wanted to look for romance, it had found her. His words had cut her deeply. She opened herself to him and as soon as he found out the truth, he automatically regretted sleeping with her. She wanted no regrets. That all went to shit when the truth came out. Most of it.

She sat there for a good twenty minutes crying soundlessly. When she finally rose, she didn't see the figure standing beside her, a gleaming steel weapon in his hand. She didn't even see when he raised it above his head and swiped downward.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: Consequences Of Insolence**

* * *

He rolled himself heavily over onto his side and looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was mocking him, apparently. He hadn't been able to catch a wink of sleep since he laid down after drowning his bitter resentment of sleeping with her. He was being mean to Lisbon unfairly, he knew, but it was an unavoidable happenstance. Anything to do with Lucy or what he saw to be her preventable death made him irrationally lash out. She had lied, but he didn't know, thinking about it for hours lying in bed if he could blame her so harshly as he was.

Red John was nobody to mess with. Fear and paranoia ate people who knew the victims up. Hell, even people just watching the news were terrified. She was probably just scared he'd find her or her family. Sadly, her silence didn't matter. After the death of her family, she was probably always looking over her shoulder; dispatching her willpower to close her eyes at night when the obscurity in her room looked menacing and malevolent. Just like Lucy, Teresa Lisbon had paid for her sins she wanted to commit against this monster. She paid with her husband and son just as he had Lucy.

He had never even entertained a connection between his wife and Teresa Lisbon; the resident fake. He worked a lot, not that it was a particularly good excuse. For Lucy, she never discussed her work with him. Certainly, nothing about her exposes or Red John. She knew he'd never allow her to touch that story. That's partly why he was so upset, too. If he'd only known what she was planning! He hated to admit it to himself, but he was making Teresa Lisbon the scapegoat. That didn't mean he'd endure all her lies. Lucy had gone to her because she thought he was having an affair. That's how they met. But if Lisbon only knew the truth of why he was distant and cold, _she'd_ be the one slamming a bedroom door in _his_ face.

He sighed and rolled himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands. He had said something he didn't mean to her; had hurt her with his insolence. He didn't think sleeping with her was a mistake. Poor timing, maybe, but not a mistake. He'd only said that out of anger. He enjoyed the feel of her skin on his and the attraction to her that made him work for it. He loved the game. He loved her playing hard to get. The only mistake was falling for someone too close to everything he tried to mask and disguise. Teresa hadn't killed Lucy. Not wittingly, anyway. But she was the closest person to him since Lucy, and he was hurt by her deceit.

What really ate at him with his behavior, though, was if he considered Lisbon as having a hand in killing his wife as he accused her, he'd be a hypocrite and sanctimoniously in denial. It was complicated. Whatever his feelings were in the heat of the moment, he had no right to be so abrasive to her. He slipped a hand through his messy hair and sighed, throwing back the covers and staring at the wall that separated his room from hers. Just a few hours ago, they were making love in there. He had felt alive and wanted and comforted. Even earlier, when he pinned her to the wall, he had wanted to touch her skin again; kiss her lips tenderly like before. He wanted not to be angry at her. He wanted to crash into her. It was like two people with so many similarities were finding each other in a new way. He hadn't wanted it to end. If he had more time to calm down and think clearly, he would have brought her to the edge of the world again and let her jump off with him.

"For fuck sake, sweetheart," he whispered. "What are you doing to me?"

He stood, walked past his clothing strewn about the floor in no particular heap and walked into the bathroom. Running the tap, he stuck his hands in a cup form under the water and splashed his face, his bare chest catching the stray, falling droplets. He reached over for a towel and dried his face and chest before looking at himself in the medicine chest's mirror.

"Well, Cho. I may have the fashion sense, but you have the manners," he said to his reflection, remembering Cho's words about treating a woman. "I guess I should apologize to her, huh?"

He shook his head at himself and turned off the bathroom light, walking to the lumpy piles and putting on his clothing. He glanced at the clock again before heading to the door. She was probably sleeping. It didn't matter. He'd wake her up and apologize and try to justify his asshole-ish behavior to a half-asleep Lisbon. He wouldn't press her to accept it, though. He wouldn't blame her if she didn't. He wrenched open his door and walked the few steps to hers.

"Teresa?" he called out, knocking lightly with his knuckles. "Are you awake?"

He waited for a few moments but was only greeted by deafening silence. "Sweetheart? I'm...I'm sorry, okay?"

When he again was greeted by silence, he reached down and took the doorknob in his hand. He pushed open her door and peered inside. It was pitch black and he could see emptiness. He stepped inside and walked slowly up to her bed, taking care not to bang into her suitcase again. He reached out into the open darkness, resting a knee on the bed as he leaned over. He expected to feel Teresa's arm, but instead, his hand fell straight to the mattress. He turned himself and switched on the table lamp on the nightstand beside him, turning to find her bed empty.

Jane didn't panic. Instead, he looked around the room and then headed back out of it, closing the door behind him. He walked down the hallway and into the living room. As his eyes scanned the entire living area and kitchen, he went from no panic to very distressing panic.

" _Teresa_?" he called out, turning himself around and looking back down the hall in case she had come from one of the other rooms. "Teresa, this _isn't_ funny!"

When he got no answer, he ran back up through the hall and threw open the doors to all the rooms they did not use. He flipped on the lights and with each empty room, his panic rose higher and higher. He reached down into his pants pocket and felt around to make sure the front door key was still there. It was. He walked through the living area and into the kitchen to grab his cell phone to call the CBI, but he remembered that there was no signal up here. He slammed his phone down in anger onto the counter and ran a hand through his hair. He could feel himself shaking. He didn't have Teresa's skills, but he could feel something wasn't right.

As he looked to his right, on the stool Lisbon had been sitting on, there was a single piece of paper. Jane lifted it up and read it, the horror crossing his face as he read the crude message in red typeset:

 _ **NEVER GO TO BED ANGRY, PATRICK.**_

 _ **YOU MAY COME TO REGRET IT.**_

 _ **LET THE HUNT BEGIN.**_

 _ **COME AND FIND US.**_

That wasn't all. Beside the crude message sat Teresa Lisbon's ring she wore on a necklace. It was stained in blood.

* * *

"That's horrible," Grace told Cho. "Not surprising after what Annette from the newspaper said, though." She held the missing page of the binder up and read it. "How do you think Red John got into the newspaper office? How do you think he got into that remote cabin?"

Cho shrugged. "He's gotten away with over twenty murders, Grace," Cho reminded her. "He's slick. We don't know if he actually delivered this package on his own. Anyway, Jane is vigilant. He'll keep watch."

"How does Red John know about Lucy's report or anything? I mean, it's pretty close-lipped stuff."

"That's just the question, isn't it?" Rigsby answered. "Well, at least we know how, now. You take her statements?"

Cho shook his head. "Uh, no. They... They weren't up for statements, exactly. I told them I'd come back tomorrow."

"Whatever you called me in for better be good, Kimball," a voice said from behind them. "It's very late and I think I almost fell asleep at the wheel," Minelli said.

They turned to him and looked at each other. Finally, Cho spoke, crossing his arms across his broad chest. "We have several promising leads, boss. We got this," he shoved the box toward his boss, "and we got some interesting developments with Ms. Lisbon and her connection to Lucy Jane."

"There is a connection to Lucy Jane? I mean, they knew each other before the photographs Jane found?"

"Apparently," Cho said. "Teresa Lisbon knew both Lucy and Kari Rollins. Lisbon was talking to Lucy about Red John using Kari. Anyway, Lucy was a reporter. She was going to do an expose on Red John, and Lisbon was going to provide the source."

"I see," Minelli said, shaking his head. "A crap storm! And what about this Kari?"

"Lisbon was using her as a go-between. She didn't want Lucy to get suspicious of her. She was reading Lucy for years before this Red John expose. She thought Lucy would suspect something if one day she just called her up and said, "hey, hello, I know who Red John is"," Cho told him. "Kari was the middle man. Setting up everything. It was actually genius of Lisbon."

"If Lucy was getting readings from Lisbon, why would Lisbon feel the need to use Kari? Wouldn't Lucy believe her?"

Rigsby weighed in. "Maybe Lucy stopped believing her?"

"I got the feeling that Lisbon's readings were becoming source material of their own in one of Lucy's exposes," Cho told them. "It's possible that Lisbon didn't want to approach Lucy directly in fear Lucy would call her out. But the allure of the Red John view made Lucy interested."

"Annette did say Lucy was impressionable and eager. She probably thought if the information panned out, it would make her career," Grace interjected.

"Huh," Minelli told them. "It just gets better and better. I want her back here tomorrow, Kimball. And get that shit to forensics. I don't think we will get anything off it, but it is the protocol, so _do_ it."

"Yes, boss," Cho told him.

"I want you in my office to explain this in detail," Minelli said. "And I want to know how the hell he got into that place. It's like fucking Fort Knox."

"I wonder how he got passed the two cops stationed outside," Grace said.

"What cops?" both Minelli and Cho said at the same time.

"Uh, the two cops that said you called Sac PD to patrol?"

"I never sanctioned a damn thing," Minelli said.

"I never saw anyone outside the gates, either," Cho said.

"Jesus Christ!" Minelli said. "Let me call Sac and make sure this isn't them pulling some shrewd shenanigans," Minelli said, turning and walking away from them. "And get that box to forensics, Cho!"

* * *

When Teresa Lisbon woke up, she was lying on a cold, resinous floor. She groggily tried to sit up but found that her ankle was shackled to the floor. She couldn't move. She could feel the slight breeze hitting her bare knees, and she coughed at the dry air surrounding her. She was inundated in darkness, but she could feel that she was still dressed in her nightshirt.

She was also aware of a sharp pain near her temple. She automatically put a hand to her head and felt a lump and sticky blood. She blinked back the urge to cry out in pain. She shifted herself onto her back and coughed again.

"You're awake," the voice said from somewhere on her right. "I was starting to think this wouldn't be fun, after all."

She turned her head toward the voice and leaned on her elbows. "What do you want?" She didn't ask the logical question most would because she already knew the answer. "Come to finish me off?"

"Now, now, Teresa," the voice said. "I don't think that's nice to say." The body that belonged to the voice stepped out into the small shaft of light coming from the only window. His face remained encased in shadow.

"What do you want?" she reiterated. "If you're going to kill me, _do it already_."

"Patience, Teresa," they said. "Every distressed damsel needs a hero, no?"

It struck her then that this wasn't him playing with her before he finished her. This was a sick, twisted game that he was playing with both herself and Jane, too.

"You're sick!" she told him. "I don't even know where I am! How is he going to know?"

"That's the fun of it, Teresa." He laughed. "He's a detective, isn't he? He'll figure it out."

"You like grandeur, don't you?" she asked him. "You're an evil, sexually perverted sociopath with pathetic delusions of grandeur. The rest is just details." When he didn't reply, she went on. "You feed off getting away with killing people. It's like a sport. You were probably ignored as a child. Am I warm? Bed-wetter, maybe?"

"Your son and husband were very clean," he said. "I took my time. I had lots of time, you know. But I made commiseration. Quick and clean and not slow and nasty." He laughed when she didn't reply. "You shouldn't have gotten into something you couldn't understand, Teresa. Kari died because she was going to tell about the expose. She was going to tell the media how she knew who I was. And I couldn't have that, now could I, Teresa?"

"And me?" she asked hoarsely.

"Ah, yes. Yes. You," he chuckled. "Well, you see, Teresa, the only one left who knew about it was _you_. Now, I killed your lovely son and husband because you crossed me. You were going to slander me. I had to show you what that would mean for you, Teresa."

"And Lucy?"

"No more questions!" he yelled suddenly. "I am expecting a guest soon, Teresa. I must prepare. I'll be back."

He whistled _Jimmy Crack Corn_ softly as he left the room. She could hear the door close. She reached down with her hands and tried to yank on the chain. It didn't yield. Looking around in the darkness, Lisbon thought she could make out some familiar things in the outline of the dusky twilight. She squinted in the dark and sat up, lying on her side. As the moonlight shifted, she got a glimpse of some things across the room.

She gasped out loud. She knew _exactly_ where she was. Her heart sunk. Jane would never find her here. She was going to die.

* * *

Grabbing his gun and phone, Jane hurried out the front door, not bothering to close it or lock it behind him. He got into his Citroen, turned the ignition over, and floored it. He was heading back to the CBI. He couldn't stay here, and he didn't know where to start with this sick game. He needed the help of his colleagues.

It was _his_ responsibility. All _his_ fault. The same thing happened with Lucy. He couldn't save her. He hadn't wanted to tell Lisbon this, but her reading that night of him in saying he wanted to save her like he couldn't his wife was dead-on. He had wanted to protect Lisbon from the start. Now, she was in the hands of a serial killer who had tried once to kill her, slicing her neck before he got there to stop it.

When he got to the gate, he found it disturbing that the two officers that had been there earlier were gone. There was no sign of them. Jane stopped the car and got out to put in the code for the gate. He got back in as the gates opened and floored it again. It was an hour and fifteen minutes later when Jane made his way into the CBI bullpen.

"Jane!" Van Pelt squeaked, seeing him without his witness. "Where is Teresa?"

"Gone," he said. "She's fucking gone and it is all my fault!" He sat himself down at an empty desk and slammed a fist down. "I let her out of my sight! I shouldn't have done it."

"Did she run off again?" Van Pelt asked.

"No," Jane said, shaking his head. He pulled out the letter and Lisbon's bloody ring and handed them to her. "He left this behind."

" _He_? As in Red John?"

He didn't even bother to respond. "We have to find her, Grace. We can't let him do what he did to Lucy or her family. We have to find her so I can tell her that what I said to her tonight was wrong! I have to save her, Grace."

He looked up at her and she noted that he looked like a small child; his eyes glassy and his face resolute but scared. He looked past her and rose. Minelli came out of his office and as soon as he saw Jane without Lisbon, he hung his head.

"Lisbon was taken, Virgil. Where was the patrol? They were gone when I left," Jane asked. "They could tell us something!"

"They can't tell us shit, Patrick," Minelli told him, rubbing his head like he often did under stress. "I never authorized any patrol to stand guard. Neither did the Sac PD."

"What are you saying?" Grace interjected. "They said you called Sac and their Sarge called it in!"

"They _lied_ , Grace," Minelli said. "They weren't supposed to be there. One or both are involved in the kidnapping of Teresa Lisbon. I want you to get a BOLO out for her likeness and I want the two cops found and brought to me!"

"He's too smart, Virgil," Jane told him. "You won't find them."

"But we can say we tried, Jane," he answered. "What's that?" He nodded to the ring and letter in Grace's hand. "That from him?"

"Yes," Jane confirmed. "I found it on the kitchen stool."

"Take the ring to forensics. Tell them this is the priority. I want to know if it is really Teresa Lisbon's blood."

"We have to find her alive, Sir," Jane said.

"I know, Jane, and we will try our damnedest," he replied. "Do you have any ideas as to where Red John would take her? Did she ever mention any place in particular?"

"Just a cabin her husband and her owned. Like a vacation home," Jane said, "But he wouldn't know about that."

"Yes, he would!" Grace interrupted. "Someone stole her file. We can assume it was given to Red John, right?"

"Yeah?"

"The sealed file that was stolen contained the addresses of any property she owned. If she owned it with her husband, the location would be listed! It's why her file was stolen. Red John didn't need the transcripts. He stole the file for the address of that cabin but found use in the transcripts to plan this out!"

"Check the-"

"On it!" Jane said, typing on the keyboard in front of him. "Got it! It's out by Joshua Lake!"

"Let's go!" Rigsby said from behind them.

"No!" Jane told them, standing up. "I have to go alone. If you come with me, he will kill her for sure. I want her _alive_!"

"Jane," Minelli said gently. "Our Agents are a high precedence."

"She's important, Virgil," he said, begging the older man to understand. "Please."

There was silent understanding there. He sighed and nodded his head. "Go. It'll take you a half hour to get there. You have _one hour_ , Jane. One hour and we are coming."

He nodded his head and stood. He took the ring from Van Pelt. "I want to give this back to her." He stuffed it gently in his pocket and walked from the bullpen. He was going to save her. And after he did that, he was going to save himself with her help.


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N: Thank all of you for the reviews, both positive and negative or critical. I hope you find this chapter to your liking. Next chapter is the last one, and I hope you find it well. Thank you.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve: Caught In A Trap**

* * *

His mind raced frantically as he punched through the streets toward Joshua Lake. All the thoughts of what he had said to her and accused her of came flooding back surreptitiously when he was trying to form a plan once he got there. Red John was incredibly smart and cunning. If he didn't come up with something quickly, he'd be leaving the ring in his pocket without its owner.

He took a hand off the steering wheel and felt in his pocket for the ring. He dug it out and looked at it in between cautious glances between the road and the bloody ring. Without much thought, he placed the ring on his ring finger. It fit well. He thought about the comfort that ring gave her and how he had witnessed on more than one occasion the strength she had invoked of it. He, by wearing the ring, was invoking some of that strength now.

He could see the large lake in the distance, the cabins huddled around it in cluttered, juxtaposed positions. It struck him as he sped up his car that he didn't know which cabin was Lisbon's. The cabins of the lakes around here were not individually addressed. They were known by the road that fed the cabins. He shook his head at that bit of disappointing news and pushed it from his head. He only could think of Teresa and of getting to her on time.

"Come on, sweetheart," he said to the empty car. "Keep him busy. Keep him talking."

He knew if she could keep him talking until he could get to her, she had a chance. But he also knew that Red John was not without a plan of his own. He wanted Jane to play this game because he wanted them both in the same place. When Red John had killed Lisbon's husband and son, he had proven that he was not afraid to swerve off his motives. He'd kill whenever and whatever served his purpose.

As he turned into the back road that led to the cabins, he could see nothing out of the ordinary. From experience, that didn't mean anything was happening. He stopped about half a mile up from the cabins, turned off the ignition, and got out, tucking his Glock service weapon beside him, facing it down but keeping it ready should he need to use it. He started walking down the dirt road, his heart hammering in his chest. Lisbon was in one of those cabins. What was more? A sadistic serial killer who murdered his wife and Lisbon's family. And he was about to show down with him. This would be Patrick Jane's justice. For any number of things.

He knew that when he finally had Lisbon back in his arms, he wouldn't let her go. He'd tell her everything. Everything that he had been hiding or avoiding. He'd apologize for his harsh treatment of her. For not believing in her when she said she felt something was wrong. He'd tell her the one thing that was missing in his life since Lucy died. Her. Falling in love. Being in love. With her and for her.

He came to the back of the first cabin and peered inside. In the pitch blackness of the vacation home, he could see nothing. It was empty of furniture inside; just a black box of shadows. He reached down and tried the door. Locked. He was pretty sure this wasn't the cabin, and he was sure Red John would not use the first cabin, even if it was. The trouble was he didn't have his flashlight with him, and these kinds of cabins cut off the electricity off-season to save money and to keep away transients.

He moved on to the second cabin, peering inside. While it was dark, the rays from the moon shined brightly into the windows, lighting the room up. It was filled with furnishing covered in plastic. There was nothing here. He was grateful that these cabins didn't have separate floors; the bedroom, bathroom and living areas were all together on one floor, separated by just a folding door for each. He was about to move onto the third cabin when he heard a noise coming from the forth.

Raising his weapon, he peeked into the third to clear it and kept moving in the darkness toward the forth. He couldn't make out exactly what the sound was, but he thought it sounded like a disjointed radio or interference from an off-beat station. Guardedly, he neared the fourth cabin's back door. He tilted his head and listened. It sounded like snowy interference.

"What the hell?" he whispered to himself. "What the hell _is_ that?"

Peering into the fourth cabin's window, he could see an empty room. Empty all save a body lying on the floor. Jane's breath caught in his throat as he looked at the shadowy body on the floor. He didn't hesitate. He leaned back, took his foot and rammed the lock of the back door. He slammed his foot into it again and again until he could hear the wood splinter and crack.

"TERESA!" he called out frantically as he continued to kick the heavy wood door. "Teresa! _God, no!_ "

Finally, with one final heave of his boot, the door swung open and Patrick Jane stumbled inside, falling to his knees beside the still body on the cold, wood floor. Flipping over the body, he cried out as he felt the viscid blood soak into his skin.

* * *

Van Pelt bit her nails as she sat there waiting for any word from Jane. In a little over fifteen minutes, they would be heading out to aid Jane at Joshua Lake. It was as she was sitting there contemplating if she wanted to get her fourth cup of coffee when Minelli came storming out of his office, his face red, and his patience thin.

"The search for the two missing cops is half over," he told her and Rigsby. Cho was down at forensics with the box. "Daniel Otero was found in his police squad car just outside city limits. He's dead."

"What about the other cop? Uh, Royce?" Van Pelt asked. "Is he deceased, too?"

"Presumably. We can't locate him," Virgil said, tapping a hand on his hip. "We know Red John pretty well. I mean, he doesn't like loose ends. I have to wonder if he's leading Jane into some kind of trap using the Lisbon woman."

"You think maybe the stealing of the file was a misdirection?" Van Pelt asked.

"Possibly."

"He stole the file, boss," Rigsby told him. "Why would he steal it for the address if he wasn't going to use it as a killing room floor?"

"It's Red-fucking-John," he answered. "Why do you think he'd steal it?"

"To set Jane up," Van Pelt said, following her boss' train of thought. "Send him on a wild-goose chase before he finally kills Lisbon."

"Who is to say he isn't waiting to bushwhack him or us for that matter?"

"Lisbon told me something that wasn't interesting enough at the time, but is very interesting now," Minelli said. "She said Red John likes to play games. He's melodramatic. Why give such an easy hint leading to Joshua Lake?"

"What do you want us to do, boss?" Rigsby asked. "Should we head out to Joshua Lake? See what's going on?"

"No. In case we're wrong. We don't want to jeopardize Jane or our witness. Wait until I give you the okay to go. I just want you to be conscientious when the time comes. We don't know if this is a trap or not. It doesn't smell right," he told them. "Let's hope he doesn't get there too late."

"This is a tangled mess," Van Pelt told him. "If only Sac PD had-"

"We don't need to hear this, Grace," Virgil scolded her. "What's done is done. We told him one hour, and that is what we are going to give him."

She nodded her head. "Okay."

"My point was that we don't know what this psychotic person is going to do. It could be a trap for all we know. Be open-eyed."

He sighed and turned around, making his way to the small kitchenette to make himself some coffee. He felt the uneasiness creep over him as he headed back to his office once his coffee was poured.

As soon as he sat down, he could see the small light blinking on his phone. He sat his coffee down and picked up the receiver. He pushed the button on the phone and slipped the phone to his ear.

"Minelli."

He listened to the other end, which was the Sargent in charge of the Homicide unit over at the Sac PD. He told Minelli his business for calling. Minnelli sighed, thanked him, and hung up. He rose, walked over to the bullpen, and pointed to Van Pelt and Rigsby.

"You two," he told them. "Go ahead up to Joshua Lake. Take your Kevlar."

They rose and looked worried. "Something happen?" Rigsby asked.

"They just got a signal off Royce's radio," he told them. "It's coming from Joshua Lake. Something is happening there. We can't wait any longer."

"Okay, boss. Is Sac PD going to meet us there?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "They are lead on this. It's one of their own. You surely can feel for them."

They nodded their heads and headed for the elevators. "You bring Jane back. You bring him back here, Agents. _Alive,"_ he called after them _._

* * *

Lisbon sat up straight as he re-entered the room. Well, as straight as the manacle around her ankle would permit her. Propped up on her elbows, she saw him bring over a chair she had in the corner of the room, sitting it directly across from her. He took out something from his pocket, and she only realized it was a pair of handcuffs when she heard the clicking of one of them tighten and lock.

"What are you planning?" she asked him hoarsely, watching as he turned toward her, his face carefully obscured by the dark shadows. "You are too smart for this. This isn't how you do things," she told him. "I suspect you have gotten cocky and disillusioned to the fact people haven't caught onto you."

He smiled. She could tell by the movements of his veiled face. He was enjoying this. Relishing the reading she was doing on him. She recoiled when he stepped forward. Facing him, the moonlight flowed across his features and she got a good glimpse of who he was.

"I sense that you knew it was me all along, Teresa," he told her, laughing softly. "You knew about me a long time ago. Suspected me."

She stuck her chin up defiantly at him. "I didn't have the proof then," she said. "But I was close, wasn't I? That's why Lucy and Kari had to die. They were close to the truth, too."

"They died because they couldn't stop digging! That is why they had to die," he walked around her, coming to stop in front of her, where he knelt down to her level. "You... I thought that giving you a lesson would make you understand, Teresa. I enjoyed you. I really did. How you got people to buy into your ESP and crap. I serve to give people the power of suggestion to be what they can be! You lie and scam and make accusations you can't back up! Oh! Oh! You were _so_ good, Teresa!" He laughed uproariously. "But then you had to stick your goddamn nose where it didn't belong! And you made my choice of victims very, very easy."

"You're sick and deranged!"

"Maybe," he said. "But it is tons of fun! You meet the nicest people late at night when you see them begging for their lives." He tilted his head at her. "So, tell me, Teresa. How did you know it was me? And don't say you saw it with that psychic stunt. We both know what you really are."

Lisbon lifted her head back as he tried to touch her cheek with his hands. She was afraid that he would take advantage of the fact she only wore a torn, dirty nightshirt. She was surprised when he pulled his hand back and tsk-tsk'd her.

'Well, I suppose that can wait for Patrick to arrive," he told her, standing. "Assuming he's lived thus far."

"What are you doing to him? Wasn't killing his wife enough?"

"Marginally," he countered. "But then he came to your rescue, didn't he? Trumped my work. I don't like being interrupted, Teresa. Since then, he hasn't let you go. Peculiar. But then it all came together, didn't it?"

"What?"

"He's in _love_ with you. I swear you aren't quite good at this whole psychic stuff. It's a wonder people believed you. Oh, but therein lies the problem. Believability!"

She said nothing. She didn't want him to reach out and try to touch her again or anger him enough to do the unthinkable. He scoffed at her and walked away from her.

"Shame I have to kill everything he loves," he added. "Purely coincidence, though."

"Why are you doing this to him? I know why you want me," she said softly. "But why Jane? It can't be just because of me or your sick need to cut down all who cross you."

He laughed loudly. "Oh! Now we are getting somewhere! He never told you the story, huh? Oh! How nice of him. I suppose I will ask him to recite it once...excuse me, _if_ he gets here!"

With that, he walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. She could hear his laughter disappear in the distance as he went. Right now, she was at the mercy of a serial killer. She was a pawn in this game of his. Killing two problems in one fell swoop. There was something she was missing... something didn't add up. She didn't have time to think about it, though. She could hear Red John coming back up the stairs.

* * *

He recoiled back from the body. It wasn't Teresa. It was the chubby cop from the stationing at the front of the gates. Jane pulled out his cell phone and lifted the illuminated screen to take in the body. He shined the light on the face of the obviously dead cop and found that his throat had been cut from ear to ear. No doubt Red John's handiwork. Pinned to the cop's chest was a note. The same red typeset telling him what he already figured out:

 ** _THE GAME IS NOT THAT SIMPLE, PATRICK._**

 ** _I'VE LEFT A CLUE TO FINDING HER._**

 ** _YOU'VE GOT A DEADLINE. ONE MORE CHANCE._**

Jane was distracted by the garbled radio coming from the dead cop's waist. He was preoccupied not because it was simply snowy interference, but because it was blinking red and was counting down on the window of the radio. To his horror, he realized that Red John had booby-trapped the body. When Jane touched the body, and turned him over, it started the bomb attached to the cop's radio.

"Shit!" he said, panicking as he stood up. The counter, at last glance, said he had thirty seconds to get out. "SHIT!"

He lifted the phone up so that the light could brighten where he was looking as his eyes frantically searched the floor around the body. Nothing. He ran around the room, the light bouncing over everything he could see. Finally, as his eyes took in the closed front door, he could see it. On a hook on the back of the door was a photo frame. The missing frame Lisbon had said her photograph had been in on her dresser. Red John was holding Lisbon at the scene of his crime against her. He tucked his gun in his waist and widened his eyes in horror.

Jane didn't hesitate, this time. He turned himself around, jumped over the body of the deceased cop, and dove out of the doorway to the dirt behind the house just as it imploded. The scattering of wood chunks, glass. Pieces of sinks and food from the fridge and a body part or two cascaded down around him. He didn't have time to waste.

He didn't even look back or try to locate the phone that flew from his hand as he got to his feet and took off. He didn't have his phone to guide him back through the dirt and gravel, and he tripped on the pieces scattered up the road. The fire wasn't bright enough to guide him, but he had no time to worry about that for right now. Only when he found his way back to his car did he look back. By then, the entire cabin was engulfed in flames and was spreading to the one on either side.

He turned over the engine, backed up his car, and took off at a high rate of speed. Red John's game had nearly killed him, but it would be no match for what was going to happen to him if Teresa Lisbon wasn't located alive. He'd have his showdown with the serial killer and put him to bed once and for all.

He headed back the way he came, his little car heading to Teresa Lisbon's home. He prayed to God as he fingered the ring on his finger that she was still alive. Somewhere in his heart, he felt she was. But not for long unless he played his cards right. Why was Red John playing this game? Why was he stepping up his melodramatics? The cop had to die, but why blow up the cabin? _Easy_ , Jane thought. Diversion. Send all units to the blast at Joshua Lake so that he wouldn't be interrupted with Lisbon or himself. Without a diversion, they'd go to the next plausible scene: her house. Use that against him. Cunning and smart. And he had no remorse. That was a deadly combination.

He could still see the raging fire in the distance as he got back within city limits a while later. He could see fire trucks and police in the other lane, but he ignored them and kept going. He pulled up to the house he had rescued Lisbon in the first time. Cutting the engine, he got out. He did not pull his weapon, however. Instead, he crept up to the front door. Trying the knob, he found it unlocked. The police tape had long been taken down, so he only had to walk straight in.

The house was pitch dark and silent. If she was here, Red John was doing a good job of keeping her quiet. He didn't even want to know how. He walked to the stairs, peering up into the blackness. _Step. Step. Step. Step._ He stopped. Looked around again _. Step. Step. Step._ Nothing but fingerprint dust and a stray plastic glove or two.

"Teresa?" he called out. "Teresa, are you here?"

He got no answer. Not that he didn't expect that. He did. When he got to the top landing, he ignored the other doors. He knew which one she was behind. He stepped up to the bedroom door he had found her bleeding to death in, and slowly opened the door.

As soon as he stepped inside, he could see her chained to the floor, lying on her back. Her eyes found his in the dusky moonlight, but she said nothing.

"Teresa! Oh, thank God!" he said, relieved. "I thought-"

Then he felt the cool, sharp edge of a knife digging into his back, cutting off his words.

"Glad you made it, Patrick," the voice said. "I was concerned you'd be in pieces by now." He reached into Jane's waist and took his gun from him. He placed the gun in his waistband. "This wouldn't be as fun. Let's go show you off to Teresa, shall we?"

"What are you going to do? Make me watch her die? Then kill me?" Jane asked, lifting his hands in a defensive pose as Red John marched him across the room, the knife still pointed in his back.

"Well," Red John replied with a smile. "And here I thought Teresa, here, was the psychic phony."

He sat Jane down on an old chair across from the floor in which Teresa lie still. He brought out a pair of heavy duty cuffs that were affixed to the chair and cuffed Jane's one wrist to the chair's handle. He watched as Red John walked over to Lisbon, kneel down at the manacle around her ankle, and lift her to a standing position, the knife across her throat, tearing the stitches she had from his previous attempt on her life.

Red John leaned forward, exposing his face and identity. "Surprise."

"You!" Jane called out, astonished.

"Now is when you say goodbye, Patrick," he told him. "I am sorry it had to be this way. I do hate dual killings. But you leave me no choice. I have to get rid of you, too. You wouldn't leave well enough alone. It would have just been Teresa. Shame."

Jane fought against the cuffs as Red John swiped his knife across Teresa Lisbon's throat and she screamed.


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: I want to thank all who have R/R'd this story. Even if you hated it or didn't like the decisions I made in this story, I appreciate your thoughts on it. Thank you. The story ends here, but I hope you will enjoy one of my other stories.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen: Confronting The Psychosis (Rated M)**

* * *

Lisbon sat there in an uncomfortable chair, her foot tap-tap-tapping in nervous disposition. Her hands pulled at the blanket that was slung over her shoulders, tightening its grip around her torso. She was groggy and still, the medication they gave her to quiet her down and lessen the pain from her reopened wound on her neck rendering her almost incongruous to Cho's questioning gaze. She shivered involuntarily, the dirty nightshirt caked in her own blood still on her body.

She could feel the outward pity from Cho, his face serious (as it constantly seemed to be), but his eyes understanding in their intensity. He sighed, looked over at Minelli and turned back to her after a moment of silent communication with his boss. He pulled out that trusty black notepad of his and clicked the upper side of his pen.

"Can you tell me what happened here, tonight?" he asked her. "How you got here? How everything happened?"

She looked at him and shook her head obstinately. "Where's Jane?"

"He'll be along," Cho assured her, tapping the pen onto the notepad. "I need you to help me understand, Teresa."

"When can I see him?" She blinked, but she wasn't really seeing anything.

"He's in another interrogation room," he replied. "He's giving us his events of what occurred. I need you to do the same."

"I want to see him." She stubbornly stuck out her chin at him. "Let me see him."

Cho sighed and settled back in his chair. "We don't manage things that way here," he told her. "I can let you see him once you tell me what happened."

Her hands shook as she brought the glass of water he had gotten her before he sat down and lifted it to her withered lips. She took a deep gulp, letting it flow over and splash along the table. She sat the glass down and noticed Cho looking at her hands, his eyes rising to hers in silent question.

"It's not mine," she told him, putting her hands up for him to examine. "They wouldn't let me clean up."

"Procedure," Cho told her. "You can clean up after they have processed you. Take pictures," he added off her look. "Whose blood is it?"

She tensed briefly and he paused. "His," she finally stated.

"Red John's?" he exhorted.

"Yes," Lisbon validated.

"How did it get there?"

"That little notebook won't be enough," she told him.

Cho looked behind him at the two-way mirror. She knew somebody was behind it, watching. She also knew she had to start spilling the beans. Not just because she had to, but because she desired to get it off her chest and see Jane again. She put her dry, bloody hands down and sighed. She wanted to put a hand through her hair, but she found herself too tired and her hands too dirty; her hair was disheveled and caked in blood, but it was her blood. Not that of a man who undertook to kill her and Jane hours before. Her hands were defiled. Her mind, as well, was clouded with what happened to her. She only wanted Jane and his arms to console her. But she knew she couldn't unless she told them all of it.

She opened her mouth, and she did not stop until she had spilled the entire tale. Every single detail she could remember, which was an incredibly substantial amount, came toppling out of her. It reminded her of the night they interrogated her when she found her family slaughtered; the perception of what had happened and the weightiness of it all. But this time, she was the victim. And this time, thanks to Patrick Jane, she was a live victim.

* * *

 **FOUR HOURS EARLIER**

* * *

She felt the twinge of the knife splay across her flesh like a knife through butter. The feel of him behind her and pulling her chestnut hair in his fist as he cut her open made her knees nearly buckle from under her; her body fought back against the urge. She could see and hear Jane fighting against the bonds, his voice thick as he shouted out at him to let her go. She could smell the stench of Red John's breath and feel it against her face as he stopped slicing.

She was bleeding, but the cut wasn't deep enough to make her bleed out. The stitches from his first attack at her life had been torn open; sliced through with the sharpness of his steel. She took notice that he had unshackled her ankle and was slowly advancing her toward Jane.

"If you don't shut up, I will slice her from ear-to-ear," he threatened, talking over Jane's outcries. "I was merely having fun. A warm-up." He laughed, waiting until Jane stopped his commotion. "Good boy, Patrick."

"What do you want, Daniel?" Jane asked, his eyes darting from Lisbon's scared face to Daniel Otero's amused one. "To gloat about how you trumped us all? How you were smarter than us?"

"Well, Teresa did say I love extreme bouts of grandeur," he articulated. "Perhaps that is true."

Daniel pulled Teresa's hair hard, making her cry out. Jane looked at him with glazed eyes, his hatred and rage-fueled expression making the sadistic serial killer chuckle.

"I want you to hear what your little boyfriend has been hiding, Teresa," Daniel stated. "The story he hasn't told you. I may be the actual one to show my rather artistic style to your adorable husband and son, but the one responsible is actually sitting right here in front of you." Daniel tilted her head roughly to look at him. "Storytime! Tell her about the night you could have captured or killed me."

"Fuck you," he told Daniel.

Daniel brought the knife back up to Lisbon's throat and set the steel blade against it. "Do it."

Jane shook his blond curls and looked at Lisbon, Jane's eyes telling her everything without words. When Jane didn't start talking, Daniel pushed the knife against her throat harder, causing Lisbon to gasp.

"I said do it!"

"You-you remember the night I told you about when Rigsby and Cho and I were scouting around at that dump site?" Jane asked her, his eyes boring into hers, pulling her attention to him and away from the weapon pressed to her jugular. "When I said I caught somebody in the house and chased after them, and I saw something as they took off?"

"This is the best part!" Daniel interrupted, his face beside Lisbon's, his chin resting on her shoulder. "Go on!"

Jane licked his dry lips and pulled gently at his restraint, his eyes falling to Daniel and his closeness to Teresa. His eyes flashed to the blade gleaming in the moonlight streaming in a slim beam through the room's window. He preoccupied his free hand and tousled his hair. His eyes climbed up once again to Lisbon's green, petrified orbs. He focused on them as he proceeded on.

"I saw the blade of a linoleum knife in his hand illuminated by the moon. The only thing I could make out in the dark," he acknowledged. "I caught Red John, here, breaking into a home. I don't know if he knew it was empty or not, but he was inside. I chased him outside, but he was gone."

"Oh, I didn't know it was empty. The young lady I was looking for must have had a late night craving for something," he told them, his voice filled with bitter disappointment. "No matter."

"I had a chance to kill him, Teresa. I only had to take my weapon and shoot him, but I didn't," Jane admitted. "He escaped unscathed. The fact Sacramento PD scared him off and took Cho and Rigsby from their posts was the reason he escaped. I never forgave them for that. Still don't." He turned his gaze back to Daniel. "They're all assholes."

"Ouch, that really hurts," Daniel feigned. "You hear that, Teresa? Do you know what this means for you?"

"No," Lisbon told him honestly. "I don't." Not that she could concentrate with the knife to her throat.

"It means, dear Teresa," he started, "that Patrick, here, could have stopped the killing that night. His wife? Your precious, beloved son and husband? They would still be alive, Teresa! Isn't that incredible, wonderful news? Oh. I mean, wouldn't that have been wonderful news?"

Lisbon looked at Jane and she shook her head. "There was nothing you could have done, Jane. It wasn't really your fault. Lucy and my family weren't on you," she told him.

"Yes, they are," Jane replied. "I could have prevented everything that came after, Teresa. It's why I didn't want to finish telling you. I wouldn't...couldn't have lied to you. You would have hated me, Teresa. Probably you do. And I don't think I could stand for that," he said, lowering his gaze and shaking his head. "Their deaths are on me. All the deaths are mine."

"How cute," Daniel told them. "Falling on the proverbial sword for each other! You _love_ her. It's a sweet thing to witness. The things you'd do for her. Almost dying just to get to her. I heard you having sex together. I have to say, I didn't expect that, but it was a nice surprise and bonus for me. You were good by the sound of it."

"You're deranged."

"We established that, Patrick. Keep up! We are discussing you and Teresa. How you fell in love with her. How she reminds you of sweet Lucy. Innocent, but strong when she needs to be. You like tough women, Patrick. You got her into bed so easily! You must be magic where it counts."

"So what if I _do_ love her? What does that matter to you?" Jane asked, licking his lips.

"It matters because you are going to watch her die just as Lucy did. You will watch her bleed out until she is lifeless. That is your punishment for what you've done. I wanted you to bear witness before you meet your own fate."

"What _I've_ done?"

"You had to keep showing up when I was trying to do my work, Patrick. First that night, and then to rescue this one." He tapped her throat with the knife. "You keep showing up when I am trying to work my craft. I can't have that, Patrick. I just can't. Two of you in one swoop. Not my usual style, but it'll do."

"And Lisbon?"

"Ah," he turned and gave her cheek a soft kiss. She couldn't turn away because he had his hand so tightly wrapped in her hair. "This one knew I was Red John. Rather, deeply suspected. The great and masterful Red John." Daniel sighed dramatically. "Kari Rollins. There was a girl who couldn't keep to her own goddamn business! You see, I used to be a security guard for Visualize. Night rounds."

"She saw you doing something suspicious," Lisbon said, finishing his thought. "She called me the day after she saw you and told me that she wasn't sure what was going on. She asked if I could tell her anything with my third-eye, as she called it," she choked out. "She told me about how you would leave during the nights you were supposed to be making your rounds, and then come back hours later with your whereabouts unaccounted for."

"Not a crime," Daniel whispered. "However, it did get her suspicious enough to document my comings and goings. She complained to Cooper. He talked to me about the complaints. That is when I knew she was trouble."

"Then she started to notice patterns in your disappearances. She was the night receptionist there. She knew when you were supposed to make your rounds. The times you went missing and returned fell within the times the young women were murdered. She got suspicious when you once came back and you smelled of earth and Pine. The last victim had made wood trinkets and jewelry from Pine trees."

"Very smart of her," Daniel commented bitterly. "Her cleverness got her killed. Your wife's inability to know when her investigations were far too close for comfort got her killed. Teresa, here, killed your wife. Murdered her. I was just the physical body."

"You _knew_ she was my wife," he told Daniel. "You did it as a punishment to me."

"Partly, yes," he admitted. "But mostly because she was going to fucking print what this bitch said!" He took the knife off her throat and took her chin hard in his hand. "She was going to bring attention to all I worked for! She was going to do an expose with the facts that Kari and your new girlfriend, here, were going to tell her. Bring unwanted attention."

Daniel got a hold of himself and smiled, letting her chin go and holding her shoulder with his hand. Jane looked at Lisbon and blinked twice. He hoped that she understood he was telling her to keep him talking. Keep the rapport open. As long as he was talking, he wouldn't be using that knife of his and it would give Jane time to formulate some kind of plan.

"Why did you wait to try to kill Kari and me?" Lisbon asked, catching on to Jane's blinks. "What made you come after us after all these years?"

Daniel simply shrugged his shoulders. "After I got the job at Sacramento PD, life was good. I could monitor what they had on me, and where the investigation was going. I could distract and deflect. I never thought I would get caught. I was too _good_ for that. But then that bitch started calling the department and saying she had tips on an old case. She said she wanted her conscious...no, _needed_ it to be clear. That stupid asshole Royce was too dense to give them directly to the Sarge, thank stupidity. He told me all about them. Needless to say, she had to go. You were going to be the only one who knew, then. You were uncommunicative after your family was unfortunately killed, but what did you have to live for after you found out Kari was ticked off my list? You'd know I was coming. You'd spill your guts. That is why you were supposed to be first to be ticked off."

"You killed Royce because he was one of your loose ends," Jane interrupted, putting together the pieces. "He was just an excuse to watch the gates. When you had to put this sick, twisted plan in motion, you had to dump him," Jane finished. "After his use was over."

"He was my ticket inside," Daniel explained. "When he closed the back patio door when this one," he squeezed Lisbon close, "escaped, he told me all about the alarm that was attached. I told you. He was stupid. Anyway, getting in was simple after that."

"The oldest trick in the book," Lisbon muttered. "A high-powered magnet scrambles the alarm signals. It rendered the alarm useless. That's why it didn't go off when you dropped off the box or snatched me."

"Ding, ding, ding!" He laughed. "You didn't have to be psychic to know that, huh? How'd you know? It's not _that_ old." He held up his hand holding the knife for her to be quiet. "Never mind. I don't care. The files were easy to steal. Transferring your sealed files to CBI was a hindrance, no doubt, but I found the retrieval of them redemptive. It set everything up nicely."

"The cabin is gone, Teresa," Jane told her, addressing her for the first time since revealing he had a shot at capturing Daniel Otero. "The cabin at Joshua Lake. It's gone. He strapped a bomb to Royce's body and blew it up."

"Not before I had him call in that he found my dead body," he smiled. "Buy me some time."

"Won't that bring attention to the fact you are missing?" Jane asked. "Get the suspicions moving?"

"Everything points to Royce," he said, smiling brightly. "His prints are on the back patio door from when he closed it, his prints are all over that cabin, and best of all? _Nobody_. The explosion offered a nice solution. I'll walk in the Sac PD and tell them he dumped me on the side of the road and went crazy. It's perfect, no? They would think him to be Red John." He looked at Jane and then Lisbon. "You will be dead. Victims of his crazy killing spree. It's been a few years since I last killed anyone. Kari was the first. I can lie low for a while. Maybe give it up now that the game isn't fun anymore. Who knows? I only kill when I _need_ to, you must understand. It was a primal need, but I've gotten better at controlling it."

As he was speaking, Jane was watching the fact that the knife he held was away from Lisbon's throat. With his hand hovering near her shoulder, there was a good chance she could use her weight and force him back into the wall behind them, giving her enough time to try to escape. His eyes fell to the chain loop on the floor that Daniel had installed to keep Lisbon shackled. If she pushed back on him, he'd trip over it. It wasn't much of a plan, but he didn't have anything else. He was handcuffed and could provide no real help. At least if she pushed him hard enough into the wall, it would provide some time for her to take off. Anything to give her a chance.

His eyes found hers and he tilted his head slightly in a motion that told her "back". She caught onto his motion but looked terrified at the idea. He didn't blame her.

"You are a _very_ disturbed man," Jane told him, trying to distract him. "You won't get away with this. It's too grandeur, even for you."

"Nothing is ev-"

He was cut off by Lisbon pressing all her weight abruptly against him, knocking both of them into the wall behind them, falling over the loop and chain that was her restraint.

Daniel let go of her hair as he fell back and hit the wall with a thud, gasping out in surprise as the knife fell from his grasp and slid across the floor, coming to rest near Jane's feet. Lisbon cried out as she pulled herself to her hands and knees and began trying to get up. Daniel recovered himself and leaped forward, grabbing her nightshirt, ripping the material as he pulled her back toward him. Lisbon kicked her feet out at him, catching him in the face and causing him to roar in pain. His grip tightened as he pulled her hard toward him.

"Let her _go_!" Jane called out from his seat. "Take me! Have me!"

Daniel didn't listen. He pulled his heavy body over Lisbon's, pinning her small body to the floor, reaching down to take hold of her hair once more. He pulled it in a tight fist and leaned her head back.

"You shouldn't have _done_ that!" he roared. "Now it won't be slow. It will be long, dirty and painful."

They were situated in front of Jane, lying on the floor as Daniel leaned up to grab the knife that had skidded near Jane's foot. Jane looked at a terrified Lisbon. He had gotten her killed, no doubt. This was it. First his wife, and now Lisbon. As Lisbon looked up with scared eyes, he suddenly found the resolve to fight back. This would not be Lucy all over again. This was not how it would end. He would not watch someone he loved die. He would leave those memories to the wayside. His hand was manacled, but his feet were not.

With a mighty rise of his boot, Jane took his foot and jammed it forward, striking Daniel in the face with his heel. He could hear the crunch of his nose breaking and the howl in pain as he jumped back automatically, falling off Lisbon, holding his nose. Lisbon took the opportunity to grab the knife at her fingertips.

"NO!" Daniel roared thickly, blood falling messily from his broken nose.

He dove at Lisbon once again, but this time, Lisbon turned her body and struck her newly acquired weapon upward. She cried out as she let go of the knife handle as his blood dripped on her hands and crawled backward out from underneath him. Daniel was on his knees, looking from her to his own weapon jammed into his chest cavity. His eyes were wide in surprise. Finally, he gurgled and dropped, his body plunging down onto the hard floor at her feet, silent.

She cried as she turned herself and lifted her shaking body toward Jane, reaching her shaking hands out to touch his knees. She looked at Jane and launched herself into his arms. She could feel his free hand wrap around her, pulling her close to him.

"Shh," he soothed her. "It's over."

"Patrick," she sobbed into his chest.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he assured her. "Do you think you could see if he has the key to this," he rattled the handcuff, "in his pocket?"

She pushed herself back from him and bit her lip. She nodded but didn't seem too sure she wanted to do that. She'd seen horror movies before where they would take one last grab at an ankle or arm. She turned herself and scooted over to stick her hands in his pants pockets. She located the cuff key and turned around, handing it back to Jane.

She rose to her shaking feet and hurried away from the body, watching as Jane uncuffed himself. She was swaying on her feet, tired and traumatized. Jane rose and put her face in his hands.

"Don't ever disappear like that from me again, sweetheart," he whispered, kissing her forehead.

She said nothing when he placed his arms under her knees and around shoulders, picking her tired, battered body up and into his arms. He stepped over the body of Daniel Otero and didn't look back as he carried her from the house and sat her on the porch steps. He reached down and tore a piece of her nightshirt off and pressed it to her neck wound.

"We could really use a shower," he told her softly. "And maybe some nice tea."

She chuckled softly, her body shaking in his arms as he wrapped them around her. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of help coming to their aid. Probably a neighbor heard the commotion when Daniel screamed and called 9-1-1. All the better. She could stay in his arms until they came to get them.

* * *

"It's destroyed," Van Pelt told Minelli over the phone, the fire still raging behind her. "There is a body, but it's in pieces. They don't think it's Jane, sir."

"Did they find any sign that Jane was there at all?" he asked. "Anything?"

Van Pelt looked down at the battered cell phone in her hand. "His phone. It was in the rubble."

"So he was there and left?" Minelli asked. "Where did he go?"

"I don't know, sir." Just then, Rigsby and Cho, who had joined them ten minutes before, walked over to where she was.

"Someone called in just a minute ago to dispatch and said they heard screaming coming from Teresa Lisbon's house. The caller said about forty-five minutes before, an old car pulled up out front and a blond man ran inside. She went to sleep after that but woke up to someone screaming inside," Cho told her. "It's Jane. He went back to Lisbon's house."

Minelli could hear Cho over the phone. He sighed. "Head over there. Let Sac PD take care of this scene. It's their jurisdiction. When they identify the body, we will decide then if we should take it over."

"Yes, boss," Van Pelt told him.

She hung up the phone and turned to her two colleagues. "Let's go."

"You think we are too late?" Rigsby asked, scrunching his face. "I mean… the scream?"

"I hope not," Van Pelt told him. "I really do."

Forty minutes later, Van Pelt, Cho, and Rigsby rolled up to the chaotic scene. Local police, fire, and paramedics were all around, their lights flashing and their radios blaring. The three of them were fully prepared to find the bodies of Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane. They were relieved to find that they were alive. Battered, but alive. They were each sitting in a different ambulance, Jane watching Lisbon being attended to very carefully, and Lisbon wrapped in a blanket, her neck bandaged and bleeding and her face and hair dirty with blood and sweat.

"Oh, thank God!" Van Pelt told Jane, wrapping him in a hug. "We thought… Well, that doesn't matter. You're okay!"

"You'll find him inside," Jane just said. "Dead."

Cho and Rigsby just looked at each other and headed inside, showing their CBI badges to the cop guarding the door. Jane watched as Van Pelt disengaged herself from him and walked over to Lisbon, talking with her briefly before she guided her to the SUV. She was taking her to the station for her statement. The paramedics had done their job, dressing the cut on her neck and giving her medication to ease the pain and calm her down. He watched as Van Pelt pulled away, taking his sweetheart with her.

He sighed. It was all over. Lucy and every other victim had been avenged. Not by cops or jail. By a woman whose life had been violently rocked by him. She did what he could not do; killed the savage, sadistic serial killer when she had the chance. He had to wonder if she was just telling him it wasn't his fault that he allowed Daniel Otero to keep on killing out of trying to keep the rapport up, or if she actually did mean it. After the shock and trauma wore off, would she still feel the same? Would his arms be comfort again? He hoped to hell they were, but he couldn't be sure. Nothing about Teresa Lisbon was a sure thing. She was fascinating and exciting. She was like Lucy in a lot of ways, but very different, too.

At first, his intentions were purely Red John related when he first met her. As the time went on, his feelings changed. He found her to be mysterious and damaged just like he was. He found her to be strong and not take his crap. His attraction to her was immediate once he stopped looking at her like a potential case-cracker and witness. He still had yet to apologize for what he had said to her after they had made love together. He would, given the chance. He'd tell her all the things he did and said to her that were wrong. Apologize for being an asshole to her when he had no right to be. His own guilt made him a hypocrite. Saying she had murdered Lucy when he had just as well as murdered her family for what he did.

Finally, after about ten minutes, Cho came to collect him for his statement. He went without protest. He did not speak to Cho on the way back, he just reflected on the situation and the death of one of the most notorious and evil killers in California's history. He didn't even hesitate when Rigby came in to ask him what happened. He readily told the tale and got it out. He knew how it went. He'd been on the flip side many, many times.

"When can I see her?" he asked Rigsby at the end of the interview. "Teresa, I mean? When can I see her?"

"As soon as she tells us what happened. She isn't as ready to say as you are. She's scared and probably has some post-traumatic stress. Give her some time, okay?" Rigsby told him.

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding his head. "Okay. As soon as she's out, can you let me know?"

"Sure."

"Thanks."

* * *

After telling her events of the past few hours, Lisbon sat back in her chair and looked at Cho expectantly. She wanted to see Jane, and she wanted to see him now. Cho lifted the notepad (which didn't hold nearly all of her statement) and stood. He grabbed the glass of water and headed for the door.

"I'll let Jane come see you," he told her. "Then he can take you home and get you cleaned up, okay?"

"I don't have anywhere to go," she told him.

"Somehow, I think you do," Cho said. He turned around and exited the interrogation room.

After several minutes of waiting, the door opened and in stepped Jane. He didn't clean up, either. His hair, she saw, was still grimy and tangled, his skin was clammy, and he had her blood encrusted on his hands. She stood ungracefully to her feet and allowed him to close the gap between their bodies and encircle her into his arms pressing her to his chest.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he whispered, smoothing her hair with his hand. "You scared the shit out of me, sweetheart."

She pulled back and looked at him, her eyes tired but mindful. "You, too, Jane. You could have gotten yourself killed!"

"Worth it," he replied without hesitation. "Completely and utterly worth it."

She felt his hand fall to her waist and his hand slide in her hair. The blanket fell from her shoulders and to her feet as her hands traced his spine through his clothing. Her breathing increased, and her eyes searched his. She found the same thing reflecting back in hers: the need for comfort and a fiery desire floating through their pupils.

"I think I should take you home, Teresa," Jane told her softly. "We could both use some time alone together."

"I don't have anywhere to go," she said, looking up at him.

"Yes, you do," he assured her. "I'm taking you to my house."

She smiled a small, tired smile and nodded somewhat. "Okay, Patrick. Take me home."

"You got it, sweetheart," he replied, letting her go and bending to pick up the blanket, draping it back over her shoulders. "Let's go glorify being alive, shall we?"

The ride to his house was silent for the most part, apart from the occasional stolen glances and yawns. He had helped her into his car and up the two stairs that led to his front door when they had arrived some minutes later. When they finally got inside, Jane showed her to the bathroom, set out one of his suit shirts for her to wear, and kissed her forehead.

"I'll make us some tea," he offered, turning from her and shutting the bathroom door behind him.

Peeling off her clothing, she stepped into the hot water, cleansing the dirty and tainted off of her skin, leaning forward in the water and letting it cascade over her head, down her neck, and around her wound. The water felt good to her as she thought about what happened tonight and how everything that had happened been entwined with Patrick Jane. Fate? A humbling coincidence? She didn't know.

She cleaned her hair and her skin, washing off Daniel's blood from her hands, watching it swirl down the drain and sighed as her hands became untainted. She turned off the tap and stepped out, drying herself off. She couldn't put her underwear back on, instead throwing them into the trash along with her torn nightshirt. She never wanted to see those clothes ever again. She took his striped shirt and put it on. It was big enough that it came to just above her knee.

She could smell the tea as she walked out from the bathroom and headed for the kitchen in which she had sat that first night. He was facing away from her, pouring hot water from a kettle into two mugs.

"Smells good," she told him, coming around the counter to stand beside him. "Thanks for the shirt."

He turned to her and gave her one of the mugs of tea. His eyes scoped her out, flickering over his shirt on her small, slim body. He brought his mug to his lips and sipped the hot liquid carefully.

"You look good in my shirt," he commented. "You clean up well, sweetheart."

"The shower is all yours," she told him.

"Meh," he told her. "I washed my hands and just my hair is really messy. I'll live," he told her. "Literally."

She took a sip of her own tea and then sat the cup down on the granite counter. She leaned on a hip, crossing her arms across her chest. He sat his cup down, too, and stared at her. There were things being said between them and their eye gaze. He knew what he was seeing in her eyes, and he, too, knew that same feeling was growing in the pit of his stomach. He also knew there was something he had to do before they did anything that their unwavering gaze was suggesting.

"I need to tell you something, Teresa," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. "What I said to you earlier, after we… After we made love? That it was a mistake? You have to understand that I was upset. I didn't mean it."

"I know," she whispered.

"The truth is that I really enjoyed our night together. I know it is too late, but I wanted you to know this, Teresa. I was wrong. So, so wrong. And I know this doesn't make up for the way I treated you, but I am falling in love with you. I do love you. That's the truth. I am sorry for what I said about Lucy, too. I was looking for someone else to blame and you happened to be closest," he explained.

"Jane, please don't," she said, shaking her damp head. "You don't need to explain. I have been in your shoes when it comes to blaming the wrong people. There is a lot of sickness in this world. We aren't to blame when some of it comes our way."

"Say you forgive me, sweetheart. Please. I need to hear it."

Lisbon uncrossed her arms and reached out of the lapels of his shirt, bringing him closer to her. "I forgive you, Patrick Jane."

His hands automatically came to rest on her hips, his face falling closer to hers. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Before she could say anything, he lifted her up gently and swung her around to sit her on the island, his body wedged between her dangling legs at the edge of the counter. His hands found the hem of her shirt and pushed up, letting him feel the bare skin of her slim hips under his fingertips. His breathing was ragged as he brought his lips to hers, crushing them with intensity as she matched his pace. Her hands traced his spine, falling to the small of his back and pushing him harder between her legs.

She giggled when he felt around under her shirt and heard his low growl when he realized she wasn't wearing any panties. He lifted her shirt, forcing her to lift her arms so he could shrug it off of her. He threw it to the kitchen floor without looking and leaned his head to her neck, kissing her gently down her throat column and kissing the dressing on her wound before spreading his warm kisses to her freckled shoulder.

"I love your skin," he told her. "Soft and warm."

"Mmm," she muttered, her concentration falling to pieces as he dipped his head down to kiss her between her breasts. "Typical male."

His hands came up to squeeze her breasts gently in his palms, eliciting a wail from her that was deep and throaty. He flicked her erect bud with his thumb.

"You don't mind making love in the kitchen do you?" he asked her. "I could take you to my bedroom. Show you how firm the bed is…"

She laughed but shook her head as he lifted her breast and placed his mouth over her, sucking her gently. Her hands flew from his back to his hair, locking him against her like a vice.

"Mmm," she moaned. "We've already started, Patrick," she told him. "Why stop now?"

"Good point," he said, flicking her with his tongue and feeling her arch her body into him. "We'll save that for later."

"Confident, are we?" she teased, feeling him move to her other breast and kiss the underside gently.

"After the day we had? Yes, sweetheart," he said, laughing. He lifted his head and mouth back to hers, kissing her softly on the corners as his hands slid down her ribs and across her belly. "I have to make up for my rude lie. I want to show you how much I enjoy you in bed, Teresa."

"In the kitchen," she corrected.

"Mmm, very well," he answered, sliding his hand down until he felt her damp curls under the tips of his fingers. "The kitchen."

He curled his fingers as they neared her cleft, smiling against her lips as she ground herself into his hand.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she felt him stick one finger into her moist heat, curling it ever so slightly inside of her.

He teased the outer lips of her with his other fingers before he slid in another digit, making her cry out in a whimper as his lips slid from her lips to her jawline and down to her neck where he held himself. His fingers pumped softly, feeling her warm and ready for him. He extracted his fingers from her core.

"Shh," he told her. "Let me take care of you." He kissed her against her neck and slid himself to his knees between her legs.

She pulled at the top of his golden locks as he spread her legs further apart and kissed the inside of her thighs with small, delicate kisses. His fingers splayed across her knees as he looked up at her as his mouth found her heat and he sucked gently, making her moan softly as his tongue slid in and teased her.

He could feel his length harden as her breathing and moans became erratic, her body jumping beneath him. He kissed her sensitive nub and lifted himself, kissing her belly, ribs, and throat as he made his way back up to her mouth, kissing her and letting her taste herself on his lips.

"Come here," she said, reaching down to his belt. "Let me take care of _you_ , now."

She managed to pull his belt from its loops and discard it onto the kitchen floor. Her fingers took to task his pants, her feet pushing at the hem of his pants and boxers, pushing them to his knees as her hands roamed over his naked hips. She lifted herself up further and reached down to take his hard cock in her hand, pumping him in her palm in even strokes.

"Oh, sweetheart," he muttered, feeling her warm hand around his equally hot shaft, pulling and teasing it, her fingers tapping the sensitive head, making him shudder against her neck as her fingers rolled down his rock-hard cock.

His eyes closed for a brief moment, before opening and stilling her hand. "I need...please, Teresa."

She nodded against his cheek and felt his hand snake around her back, tracing her spine and pushing her toward him roughly. With his other hand, he reached down and swiped his cock horizontally up her moist cleft, teasing her.

"Patrick," she moaned in his ear.

This excited him even more. Without any more delay, he pushed himself deep and hard into her, making her call out in surprise as he slid back out of her again before slamming himself into her again, her body sliding against the granite countertop.

"Teresa," he moaned against her neck, his hand falling to her bare ass and pushing her into him for more leverage and depth. "Fuck."

He felt her legs wrap around his waist as he rode her deep and hard. Her fingers dug into his vested back and bare ass and her teeth nibbled at his shoulder. He kept himself going at a torrid pace, kissing her earlobe and nibbling the skin behind it. The harder he slid into her, the louder she moaned. He could feel her orgasm coming, as she started to contract around his hardness. Feeling him inside her, deep and hard, she was ready to let go. He leaned his head up so that his eyes locked onto hers as she came. The warmth spread through her and around him.

"Sweet-" he started to say. He couldn't hold on. With one more push into her, he released, feeling himself shoot into her warm and fast, moaning deeply as his head fell against her shoulder and his quivering body gave her two small pumps. "...heart," he finished, kissing her neck and then lifting his face to kiss her lips. "I love you."

She kissed him twice on his lips and smiled drunkenly. "I love you, too, Patrick."

He stayed inside her until his body stopped quivering. For Lisbon, having a half-dressed man inside her who knew how to please her excited her. She bent to kiss his lips again as his hands roamed over her breasts and through her hair. Finally, after a minute or two, he pulled himself out of her and helped her down off the counter.

"I hope that makes up for that counter tease at the cabin," he said. "That was very naughty of me, sweetheart."

"You made up for it, Patrick," she replied, smiling. "Ten-fold."

"Well, there is an issue of where you are going to live…" he trailed off, lifting his boxers and pants back up and redoing them as his eyes locked on hers. "You can live here. With me."

"Here? With you?" she reiterated, letting him help her down and put her shirt back on her. "Really?"

"Really," he said. "I want you where I can see you, sweetheart." He reached out and pulled her by her waist against him. "And touch you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. We've been through the depths of hell, Teresa. I think I am sure."

"Mmm."

"Move in here. I know it's sudden," he said, shrugging, "but I think we have done a lot of things suddenly that we don't regret." He lifted his eyebrows. "What do you say?"

She thought for a minute and then smiled brightly up at him, encircling her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

"Yes," she said, kissing him. "I will, _sweetheart_."

He growled at her softly and smiled, kissing her.

"That's _my_ line." And he picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, slapping her butt as she giggled like a child the entire way down the hall to his room.

* * *

 **THE END**


End file.
